


The Bonds We Choose

by Heavenly_Pearl



Series: It's Complicated and Related Stories [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: #IcePapas, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Asexual Character Exploring Sex, Asexual Yuri Plisetsky, Asexuality, Babies, Bisexual Mila Babicheva, Bisexual Otabek Altin, Consent, Death, Demisexual Katsuki Yuuri, Depression, Discussion of Abortion, Doting Dumbass Dads, Drama, Drunk Cat-Loving Snowboarders, Drunk Sex, F/M, Family Drama, Foreplay, Grief, House Hunting, LOTS OF CONSENT, M/M, Mama Bear Mila, Miscarriage Scare, Multi, OT3, Olympics, Partying, Past Child Abuse, Past Drug Use, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Test, Queerplatonic Relationships, Romance, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, The World's Tackiest Bathroom, Wakes & Funerals, mild violence, off-screen sex, weird cravings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:53:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24483847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavenly_Pearl/pseuds/Heavenly_Pearl
Summary: Their relationship may be considered unconventional by most, but after four years together, Yuri, Otabek, and Mila are still happy with their arrangement, the three of them closer than ever. Though Yuri hopes things will stay the same between them forever, a night of drunken revelry at the 2022 Olympics leads to an unexpected consequence that will change all of their lives forever.
Relationships: Jean-Jacques Leroy/Isabella Yang, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Mila Babicheva & Sara Crispino, Mila Babicheva & Yuri Plisetsky, Otabek Altin/Mila Babicheva, Otabek Altin/Mila Babicheva/Yuri Plisetsky, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky, Sara Crispino/Emil Nekola
Series: It's Complicated and Related Stories [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1523471
Comments: 20
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE BEFORE READING: This fic is a sequel to “It’s Complicated”. It would probably be helpful to be familiar with that story before reading, but I don’t think it’s strictly necessary. As long as you know that Yuri is asexual, Otabek and Mila are bi, and that Yuri and Otabek are queerplatonic partners while Otabek and Mila are romantic sexual partners, you’re probably good to go.
> 
> Since I’m aware that that some of you readers are probably asexual yourselves and might not enjoy reading sex scenes, I do want to be upfront with the fact that there are a couple of sex scenes planned for later in the story involving Yuri and Otabek. One will be a “fade-to-black” situation; the other will be a little more explicit, but focused on foreplay and consent. Nothing will be non-consensual; that’s kinda a huge part of both scenes, as Otabek is very respectful of Yuri’s asexuality and boundaries. I’ll warn for those scenes and summarize them in the end notes if you would rather not read them, for whatever reason. Please check the tags for other warnings, since this fic will deal with some serious topics including death and abuse.
> 
> This first chapter involves drinking and implied off-screen drunk sex.

_Gold._

Yuri had won Olympic gold before – a team gold in Pyeongchang four years ago and another one less than a week ago – but _this_ was the gold he had wanted more than anything. The gold that rendered all his many sacrifices over the past decade worth it. The gold that made all his childhood dreams come true.

His heart swelled with pride as the medal was slipped over his head, his hand immediately grasping it to reassure himself it was really real and not a figment of his imagination. From the moment he heard his world-record breaking free skate score and realized he was the new Olympic champion, he'd been living in a dream, but the medal was solid and heavy around his neck, undeniably the genuine article.

He glanced to his right, down at the lowest step. His partner Otabek had captured the bronze, achieving his goal of making the podium and winning the first figure skating Olympic medal for his native and beloved Kazakhstan. Sensing Yuri looking over at him, Otabek shot him a "thumbs up", which Yuri returned, his smile widening even more. Sharing the podium with Otabek made his victory even sweeter. He knew how much the bronze meant to Otabek, how hard he had worked and how many sacrifices he had made in order to make his dream come true.

The only thing that marred the experience – well, besides JJ Leroy on the other side of him, doing his stupid "JJ Style" hand signal – was the fact that his grandfather wasn't there to witness it in person. He wasn't in the best of health, and his doctors had feared traveling to Beijing would be too much for him in his condition. No doubt he was watching the medal ceremony on TV, though, waving his tiny Russian and Kazakh flags in celebration.

 _I'll go visit him as soon as I can,_ Yuri promised himself, waving to the crowd.

After the flags of Russia, Canada, and Kazakhstan had been raised and the Russian national anthem played over the speakers, Otabek and JJ joined Yuri on the middle step to pose for pictures for the press.

"This is incredible!" JJ said – or more accurately, yelled – into Yuri's ear. "Can you guys believe we're actually Olympic medalists?"

Yuri winced, rubbing at his ear. JJ was lucky he was in such a good mood at the moment, or else he would have been seriously tempted to kick his ass off the podium, international incident be damned.

"This isn't the first Olympic medal you won, you know," Yuri reminded him, referring to the silver and bronze Team Canada had won in the past two team events.

"Yeah, but this…" JJ brought the silver medal to his lips, kissing it. "This is the dream, man!"

As annoying as he sometimes found him, Yuri had to hand it to JJ – he was a good sport. Considering Yuri had also narrowly defeated him for the bronze at the 2018 Games, he expected JJ to be upset that he had beaten him once again – and this time, for the ultimate prize – but he showed no signs of bitterness, throwing an arm around Yuri's shoulder and grinning broadly as the cameras flashed.

"It really is incredible, though," Otabek said in a much quieter voice than JJ had used. He discreetly reached for Yuri's left hand, knowing that Yuri disliked public displays of affection, and squeezed his fingers through their gloves. "I'm glad I was able to experience this moment with you."

"Yeah, me, too."

After the photographers got their fill of pictures, they were finally free to leave the podium. JJ joined up with his parents and wife, Isabella, while Yuri and Otabek searched for Mila.

"Beka! Yura!"

The two of them turned in the direction of the familiar voice, Mila pushing her way through the crowd and running straight into Otabek's arms. With no effort at all, he lifted her up, her legs wrapping around his hips as they locked lips in a passionate display that caught the attention of passers-by, several who took out their phones in order to capture the moment. Yuri gave it ten minutes before the kiss pics were trending worldwide on Twitter.

He rolled his eyes, but for once he didn't mind, looking on with an affectionate smile instead of his usual gagging.

At least for the first minute.

"Okay, okay, come up for air every once in a while. Geez!"

When they finally broke apart, Mila giggled. "Oops, sorry," she said, Otabek gently setting her feet back on the ground so that she could hug Yuri. "I'm just so, so proud of both of you. Congratulations on your gold, Yura. You were amazing tonight."

"Thanks." He hugged her back, kissing the top of her red hair. Mila had always been like a big sister to him, and if he couldn't have his grandpa there, she was the next best thing.

"And you…" She broke away from Yuri and stretched her hand out to Otabek, pulling him closer and wrapping her arm around his waist. "You made history," she said, pecking Otabek on the cheek. "How does it feel, Hero of Kazakhstan?"

Reaching for the bronze medal hanging from his neck, Otabek shook his head. "Indescribable."

"See, I told you moving to St. Petersburg and training with Yakov would pay off," Yuri said, feeling he had earned the right to be a little smug.

Otabek smiled, pulling Yuri to his free side. "Best decision I ever made," he agreed, pressing his lips against Yuri's temple before doing the same to Mila. "For many reasons."

"Yurio!" two voices called out, interrupting the moment.

Yuri again rolled his eyes, knowing exactly who it was without turning around. Five years had passed, and he still hadn't been able to shake that stupid nickname Mari Katsuki had given him, Viktor and Yuuri continuing to call him that against his repeated pleas for them to stop.

At the same time, another voice called out for Otabek, Yuri recognizing it as belonging to his younger sister, Inzhu, who was waving her arm high above her head to get his attention amongst the crowd. His entire family had made the trek from Almaty to Beijing to cheer Otabek on. "We should go talk to them," Otabek said, releasing his hold on Yuri's waist. "Come find us when you're finished."

He nodded and turned around to greet Viktor and Yuuri, who had caught up to him. Viktor was carrying their sleeping two-year old son, Nikita, in his left arm, the toddler bundled up in a purple snowsuit and noise-cancelling headphones.

"Congratulations, Yurio!" Viktor said, hugging a squirming Yuri with his free arm. "Welcome to the Gold Medal Club! You were amazing – almost as incredible as my Yuuri when he won his gold in Pyeongchang."

"You do realize I broke Katsudon's free skate record, right?" Yuri couldn't resist pointing out after breaking out of Viktor's hold. "That means _I_ was better."

Viktor waved his hand dismissively. "Bah, Yuuri set his record when the max was only plus-three GOE, and it still took four years for somebody to break it. You can't compare scores like that, right, Yuuri?"

"You skated wonderfully," Yuuri said with a warm smile, ignoring his husband's bait as he stepped forward and gave Yuri a hug as well. "Congratulations on the gold and breaking my record. You deserve it."

"Oh, um, t-thanks." Unexpectedly, Yuri's cheeks warmed. Viktor may have been his initial inspiration to start figure skating, but it was Yuuri's skating that he came to idolize. Despite what he said, Yuri actually agreed with Viktor that Yuuri’s gold medal winning free skate in 2018 was the best Olympic performance of all time – although his _was_ a close second. "Isn't it a little late for the kiddo to be out?" he asked after pulling away. "It's probably way past his bedtime."

"It is, but Niki-chan insisted on watching Uncle Yurio get his gold medal," Yuuri said, pulling the fur-lined hood of the snowsuit over Nikita's head. "We should probably head back to the hotel soon, though. It's getting colder. I don't want him getting sick."

"We should also check in with Kenjirou, make sure he's doing okay," Viktor added, referring to Kenjirou Minami, the current Japanese national champion. He had made big strides in his skating since moving to train under Viktor and Yuuri a couple of seasons ago, but a disastrous free skate had left him in twelfth place after achieving a new personal best score in the short and even making the prestigious final warm-up group for the free. "It was a disappointing day, but he can still redeem himself at Worlds." He glanced over at Yuri. "Speaking of which, are you and Otabek still planning to go?"

Yuri shrugged. "That's the current plan." To be honest, he wasn't looking forward to it, exhausted by even the thought of trying to peak at another event so soon after achieving his life-long dream, but the federation was bound to pressure him to go anyway in order to help keep Russia's three spots for next year's Worlds. "Guess I'll see you then, huh?" Since Kenjirou was the only Olympian they coached, there was no reason for them to stay for the rest of the Games. It made more sense to get back to the rest of their students in Hasetsu and prepare Kenjirou for Worlds.

"Well, tell Nikusha I appreciate him cheering for me," Yuri said, affectionately rubbing the top of the toddler's head as Viktor and Yuuri exchanged smiles. "What?"

"It's nothing," Viktor said, tilting his head to the side. "It's just that you've really grown up from your days as the Russian Punk."

Yuri rolled his eyes. "I'm gonna be twenty-one next month. Of course I freakin' grew up. And I'm still the Russian Punk." He unzipped his Team Russian jacket halfway, revealing the awesome cheetah print sweatshirt he wore underneath. "See?"

"Yes, yes, totally badass…"

Yuri flipped Viktor off just as his ringtone started playing. He pulled his cell out of his pocket, grinning when he saw the name on the display.

"Your grandfather?" Yuuri guessed correctly. "Then we'll get going. Come on, Vitya," he said, taking Viktor's free hand. "We'll see you at Worlds, Yurio. Bye!"

He gave them a dismissive wave good-bye, tapping the screen to accept the call and bringing the phone to his ear as he moved to a quieter spot. "Grandpa?"

"Yurochka, is this a good time?" his grandfather asked. He'd tried calling earlier, shortly after the free skate, but unbeknownst to Yuri, Yakov had turned off his cell so that he would actually focus on his post-skate interviews – a fact that had infuriated Yuri when he finally noticed and saw the missed call.

"Yeah, perfect timing," Yuri said. "Sorry, I meant to call you back, but it's been kind of crazy here with all the interviews and press conferences…"

“I imagine. I won’t keep you long. I’m sure you probably want to celebrate with Beka and Mila. I just want to let you know –” Grandpa’s voice cracked. “I’ve never been more proud of you, my Yurochka,” he said after a brief pause to compose himself. “Congratulations on making your dream come true. I always knew you could do it.”

“Thank you, Grandpa.” Yuri swiped a hand over his cheek, wiping away a tear that had somehow managed to escape. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Oh, I’m sure you would have found a way somehow... Anyway, tell Beka I said congratulations on his bronze and let Mila know I’ll be cheering her on in the ladies’ event.”

“I will,” he promised. “See you soon. Bye.”

* * *

The afterparty was rocking when Yuri arrived at Russia House after going back to his and Mila's room to change out of his official Team Russia gear into something more appropriate once the Closing Ceremony had concluded. The rest of the Games had passed by in a blur. With all the events over, everyone was letting loose, the medalists celebrating their wins and the losers drowning their sorrows in massive amounts of alcohol. Yuri grabbed himself a mug of beer at the bar, then pushed through the crowd, searching for Mila and Otabek.

It took him a while to locate them. He kept getting stopped by his fellow Olympians, either wanting an autograph or to take a selfie with him. Normally, such behavior bugged the crap out of him, but Yuri was still riding the high of winning his Olympic gold, so he didn’t mind...much. At least they weren’t as annoying as his Yuri’s Angels could be.

He finally found the new ladies' figure skating bronze medalist arm-wrestling on the other side of the room, surrounded by several hulking members of the silver-medal-winning Russian men's hockey team. Her current opponent was the goalie, a brawny fellow with a nose that looked like it had been broken several times. At the moment, he appeared to be winning, his teammates chanting his name, but Mila wasn't giving up, biting down on her bottom lip as her arm strained to push his back. As Yuri approached, she found an extra burst of strength, slamming the goalie's hand against the table.

"Woohoo!" She sat back in her chair and threw her fists in the air in victory. "In your face, Petrov!" she said, taking a swig of beer before putting her elbow back on the table. "Okay, who's my next victim? Come on, guys, don't be shy… I'm just a pretty little figure skater, after all, right?"

The hockey players exchanged looks with each other before backing away from the table. "Okay, you've made your point," one of them said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "We give. We're sorry. See ya around."

"Wusses," Mila muttered as the group dispersed, Yuri taking the seat vacated by Petrov. She cocked an eyebrow. "You wanna give it a try?"

Yuri knew better by now than to take her up on the challenge. "No point. You already know you'll kick my ass."

"Damn right I would."

"So, what was the final tally?"

"Five wins, one lost." She sighed, taking another sip of her beer. "Kulik was too strong for me."

"Still, five out of six isn't bad," Yuri said. He sat back in his chair, taking everything in. "Wow, this party is wild!"

Mila grinned. "I know. Isn't it great?"

"Where's Beka?" Never much of a social butterfly, it wasn't like Otabek to go off on his own during a party. "Bathroom?"

"DJ booth." She nodded toward the dance floor. "The DJ’s running late, so someone asked him to fill in and play a set." After knocking back the rest of her drink, she slammed her empty mug on the table and stood up. "Come on, let's dance."

"I'm game."

Yuri took a couple of large gulps of his beer and set it down, following Mila out onto the crowded dance floor. A pulsating song Yuri recognized as one of Otabek's latest remixes was playing, the beat pounding in his ears, and neon lights were streaming over the reveling dancers. They made certain to pick a spot in view of the DJ booth, Otabek nodding in acknowledgement and giving them one of his rare smiles when he saw them.

Mila blew him a kiss. "God, he is so freakin' hot."

Yuri rolled his eyes, but he had to admit Otabek looked really cool when he was deejaying. It reminded him of a certain night five years ago in Barcelona.

It must have brought up similar memories for Otabek, because as the music transitioned into the next song, Yuri recognized it as _Welcome to the Madness._

Even though he hadn't performed his "Madness" exhibition since the previous Olympic gala four years ago, people still remembered the viral sensation. Around them, people started chanting "Yura! Yura!", clapping and forming a circle around Yuri and Mila.

"I think they want you to dance!" Mila shouted.

Yuri grinned, taking a pair of sunglasses a nearby woman offered him and slipping them on. "Then I better give them what they want."

He moved to the center of the circle and began performing a modified version of his exhibition program. Even after so many years, he still remembered most of the choreography, and whatever parts he forgot or wouldn't work on the floor, he made up on the fly. Since Otabek was in the booth and Yuri wasn't wearing gloves, they couldn't do their iconic move, but he improvised with Mila, miming it instead to hoots and hollers from the audience.

A part of him was embarrassed. At the time, as an inexperienced fifteen year old, he hadn't realized how suggestive sticking his finger in Otabek's mouth was, only thinking it was cool and shocking, suiting the vibe of the program. As somone who now identified as asexual, it kind of annoyed him that _that_ became the most talked about part of the program, but, oh, well. He didn’t mind acting sexy as long as people understood it was just a performance, a role he played for fun, not seduction.

The crowd broke into loud applause when the song ended, Otabek giving them a shout-out from the booth as Yuri and Mila took their bows.

Yuri danced with Mila for the next couple of songs, then they headed to the bar for another round of drinks. It wasn’t much longer before Otabek joined them, taking a seat on the empty stool on the other side of Mila. "I'll have what they're having," he told the bartender, indicating their half-drunken glasses of beer.

"Hey, great set, babe," Mila said, leaning over to kiss Otabek on the cheek. "The crowd really seemed to enjoy it."

He shrugged. "Thanks. I wish I had been able to prepare more. Deejaying was the last thing I expected to do tonight." The bartender set the glass down in front of him, Otabek taking a large gulp. “Speaking of which, you two caused quite the scene out there.”

“As if you didn’t know what would happen when you started playing that song,” Yuri said.

The barest hint of a smirk crossed Otabek’s lips, mostly hidden behind his glass. “I might have had _some_ idea.”

Yuri laughed. Otabek didn’t show his mischievous side that often, but he always loved it when he did. "Hey, can we get another round over here?" he called out to the bartender, holding up three fingers.

"How much have you two drank so far?"

"Not enough." Tonight was the last night he'd be able to cut loose and party before it was time to seriously start preparing for Worlds in a few weeks, and Yuri intended to take full advantage of it. If he wasn't falling-down, shit-faced drunk by the end of the night, he would consider the evening a complete failure. "Here, have another," he said, sliding one of the mugs the bartender set down in front of him over to Otabek, some of the beer sloshing over the side and spilling onto the counter.

Otabek pushed it back. "I haven't even finished this one yet. Anyway, I've already had two glasses. That's my limit."

Yuri rolled his eyes. In all the years he'd known Otabek, he had yet to see him truly drunk. Buzzed, yes, and occasionally tipsy, but never to the point where he lost control of himself. "Beka, you don't always have to be so… _responsible_." He said it like a dirty word. "It's a party – loosen up! It's not like we have training tomorrow."

"Yeah," Mila said, adding to the encouragement. "You deserve to have some fun!"

“I am having fun,” Otabek insisted. “You don’t need to drink yourself silly to have a good time.”

“But it definitely helps. Just one more won’t hurt.” Yuri once again pushed the fresh glass in Otabek’s direction.

Otabek contemplated the glass for a few seconds before finally reaching for the handle. “You know, you’re right. What the hell...why not?” He took a couple of large gulps, swiping the arm of his sweater over his mouth. “I’m an Olympic bronze medalist. It’s time to celebrate!”

“That’s the spirit.” Yuri held up his glass for a toast. “To the Olympics!”

“The Olympics!” Otabek and Mila chorused, the three of them clinking their glasses together.

* * *

As the night wore on, Yuri somehow found himself hanging out with a group of Russian snowboarders. One of them had approached him for an autograph, mentioning that he, too, was a cat lover – the cat ears his Angels wore were trending on Twitter after Yuri had taken a picture with a group of them at the Closing Ceremony – and the next thing he knew, Yuri had become a part of their group, exchanging funny cat videos on YouTube while knocking back glasses of whatever alcoholic drink was put in front of him.

After a while, though, he started to wonder where Otabek and Mila had gone. The last he saw them, they had been heading out on the dance floor, but there was no sign of Mila’s distinctive red hair amongst the dancers.

“Hey, taking a bathroom break,” Yuri said to the snowboarder sitting nearest to him – he thought his name was Gleb – finishing off his vodka tonic and standing woozily to his feet. Gleb gave him a thumbs up, probably not even hearing him over the laughter of the other guys as they watched another video.

He really did need to take a piss, so Yuri headed toward the men’s room, keeping an eye out for Mila or Otabek along the way. He found them in a darkened corner, making out against the wall.

 _Of course,_ he thought. Mila had a tendency to become rather...amorous whenever she was drunk.

Not wanting to interrupt, Yuri continued to the restroom and took care of business. On his way back, however, he noticed their make-out session had progressed beyond simple groping and kissing, Mila having fallen on her knees in front of Otabek.

“What the –”

Yuri staggered over to them, grabbing Mila by the arm. “Okay, upsy-daisy!” he said as he yanked her back to her feet.

Mila laughed, throwing her arms around Yuri’s neck as she stumbled forward, trying to find her balance in her stiletto boots. “‘Upsy-daisy’? What am I, a two-year-old?”

Catching a whiff of her breath, Yuri wrinkled his nose. “Wow, you’re drunk.”

"So are you," she giggled.

Yeah, but not as much as she was.

Otabek wasn't in much better condition. He was still leaning against the wall, his eyes half-closed, and it looked like he was barely managing to stand. "Milasha…" he moaned. "Want you to blow me so bad…"

"Coming, babe."

"No, you're not." Yuri held her back, placing himself in between the two of them as a barrier. "Mila, stop. You can't do that here."

Her lips curled into a pout as she rested her chin on his shoulder. "Oh, don't be such a party pooper, Yura. I'll give you one, too, if you want."

"Yeah, no, thanks." Even if he wasn't asexual, he wouldn't take her up on the offer.

"Come on, somebody suck me off already… Please… Don't care who…" Otabek whined, starting to unzip the fly of his jeans.

Yuri slapped his hand away. He was beginning to understand why Otabek usually kept his drinking in check. If he'd known that alcohol would lower his inhibitions to such a ridiculous degree, Yuri never would have encouraged him to drink so much in the first place.

"Seriously, you can't do that here!"

Grabbing Otabek and Mila by the wrists, Yuri began dragging them toward the front entrance. They needed to get out of there before they completely embarrassed themselves. Fortunately, everyone else was about as smashed as they were, so they didn't draw much notice as they weaved through the crowd.

"Where are you taking us, Yura?" Mila asked. "Oh, do you wanna have a threesome? Beka's always wanted to have a threesome with us. It's his fantasy." She said the last part in a stage whisper.

"Mila, that was supposed to be a secret!" Otabek said in an equally loud whisper, bringing a finger to his lips. "Shh!"

She slapped a hand over her mouth. "Oops, sorry!"

"Will you two shut the hell up?" Yuri sighed as they finally reached the entrance. "We're not having a threesome – not now, not ever. Both of you are going back to Beka's room."

"Aw, but the party's not over yet!"

"It is for you. You've partied enough." He turned to Otabek, releasing his grip on their wrists. "Do you think you can make it back to your room on your own?"

"Yeah, sure." Otabek threw his arm around Mila's shoulders, the two of them swaying. "Not like we're driving," he slurred.

Their behavior wasn't inspiring much confidence in them walking a straight line, much less managing to make the trek to the building where the Kazakh athletes were being housed, but at that moment, one of the snowboarders Yuri had been partying with earlier caught up with them, bursting through the front doors.

"Dude, Yura, they brought out the jello shots! You gotta get back in here," the snowboarder said. "We're gonna see who can drink the most before they puke!"

"Oh, my god, I looooove jello shots!" Mila squealed, pulling away from Otabek, who almost stumbled into the wall upon losing his crutch. "We gotta go back."

"Beka, do something," Yuri begged, once again holding Mila back. He was _so_ not cut out for being the responsible one in the group.

"Come on, Milasha," Otabek said, pulling her back toward him and kissing her neck. "Wanna get you naked…"

That did the trick. "Oh, okay!" she said, the jello shots forgotten, much to Yuri's relief. "Let's go!"

"Try to keep your clothes on until after you get back to the room," Yuri called after them as they staggered down the sidewalk, "okay?"

Mila waved back at him. "Not making any promises!"

Yuri rolled his eyes. Maybe it wasn't such a great idea to let them go off on their own. The least he could do was follow them and make sure they got there safely without violating any public indecency laws, but the snowboarder grabbed him by the elbow, pulling him back inside the building.

"Come on, Yura. It's about to begin!"

Ah, well. They were adults. They could handle themselves. Probably.

"You're on!"

* * *

That had been the most epic party ever in the history of parties.

Yuri could barely feel any of his limbs, laughing at nothing in particular as he exited the elevator filled with still-partying snowboarders and staggered down the quiet hallway in search of the suite he was sharing with Mila. He was going to feel like shit when he woke up tomorrow morning, but totally worth it.

That is, if he could remember his room number and actually get some sleep. Was it 316 or 319? Hell, he wasn't entirely certain it was on the third floor.

 _It should be printed on the key card,_ Yuri thought, leaning back against the wall next to Room 316 and rummaging through the pockets of his leopard-print jacket. A momentary feeling of panic arose in him when he discovered the pockets empty except for a couple of ketchup packets, of all things, but then he remembered that he had put the key card in the back pocket of his jeans.

"Found it!" he shouted in victory to the empty hall.

Squinting, Yuri held the card up and attempted to make out the number printed on it. "306? Where the hell did that zero come from?"

Well, who was he to argue with the key? Yuri doubled back the way he came until he found Room 306 and attempted several times to slide the card into the lock, muttering profanities under his breath with every miss. Eventually he gave up and began banging on the door instead.

"Mila, open up! It's me – Yuri Nikolayevich Plisetsky, three-time Olympic gold medalist and winner of the Russia House Jello Shot Showdown!" he yelled, waiting a few moments before starting again. "Are you in there, or are you still in Beka's room? If you don't open up soon, I'm gonna tell everybody that you used to – Oh, geez! Put those things away!"

The door cracked open, revealing a messy-haired Mila, naked except for a tiny pair of striped briefs. She groaned, rubbing at her temple. "Oh, grow up, Yura. They're just boobs. You're lucky I put on panties," she said with a roll of her eyes, opening the door wider. "And get in here already. You're going to wake up the entire floor."

"Sorry." He lowered his voice to a loud stage whisper, entering the suite before Mila closed the door behind him and following her to their shared bedroom. "The damn key wouldn't...work…"

Yuri's voice trailed off. In the dim light of the lamp next to Mila's bed, he saw various articles of clothing haphazardly strewn about the room. A human-shaped lump hid underneath her blanket, lightly snoring. "Is that Beka? I thought I told you two to stay in his room if you were going to, you know…do stuff."

"Too far, too drunk," she mumbled, crawling back in bed with Otabek and pulling the blanket over herself. "Don't worry. We're finished. We won't do anything else."

"Better not."

After slipping off his boots and tossing them on the floor, Yuri stumbled over to his own bed. Another round of profanities escaped from his mouth when he stubbed his big toe against the footboard.

"Yura, we're trying to sleep," Mila whined, although Otabek had yet to move a muscle since Yuri arrived, seemingly dead to the world. Either he was the type who could sleep through anything or he had drunk even more than Yuri thought and passed out.

"Sorry, sorry."

Yuri shrugged out of his jacket and took off his jeans before crashing face-first into the mattress, passing out himself within minutes.

*****

The next morning, someone shook Yuri by the shoulder.

"Yura, time to get up," a voice that sounded like Otabek's said.

Groaning, Yuri slowly cracked open one eyelid. The blurry human shape in front of him also resembled Otabek. "Five more minutes," he mumbled, yanking his blanket over his head.

"You've been saying that for the past twenty," Otabek said. "Come on, wake up. You still need to finish packing."

Oh, right. The Olympics were over and they were flying back to St. Petersburg that afternoon.

His entire body protesting, Yuri pushed the blanket aside and moved to a sitting position on the bed. He grimaced, rubbing at this throbbing forehead. It felt like his entire brain was being pricked by a thousand sharp needles.

"Here." Otabek, dressed only in his jeans, handed him a couple of tablets and a half-drunk bottle of water. "I thought you might need these."

"Thanks." Yuri popped the pills in his mouth and took a swig from the bottle, washing them down. "Mila taking a shower?" he asked, hearing a faint spray of water coming from the bathroom.

"Yeah."

Yuri shuffled over to the bathroom door and knocked. "Hey, don't take too long in there, hag," he called out, the volume of his own voice causing him to wince. "I still need to take a shower, too."

Mila shouted something back, but he couldn't really make it out. Probably some threat of revenge for calling her a "hag". Turning back around, Yuri smirked at the sight of Otabek sitting on the edge of Yuri's bed, massaging his temples.

"Hungover?"

Otabek nodded, letting out a soft groan. "I don't think I ever drank so much in my entire life…"

"Yeah, you were really knocking them back," Yuri said. "I never saw you cut loose like that before."

"I didn't do anything too embarrassing, did I?"

"Besides stripping down to your underwear and singing the Kazakh national anthem at the top of your lungs?"

Otabek's head shot up, his eyes widening in horror. "I didn't, did I?"

As fun as it was to tease him, Yuri decided to put him out of his misery. "Don't worry. The pride of your country is still intact. Other than a sloppy make-out session, you didn't do anything too scandalous."

"Make-out session? With you?"

"You wish." With a roll of his eyes, Yuri started going around the room, gathering his dirty clothes. "With Mila, obviously. You're lucky I caught you two when I did, though. You two were ready to tear each other's clothes off right in front of everybody"

"Oh…sorry. And thanks."

He shrugged, dumping the dirty clothes on Mila's bed. When he was younger, the sight of Mila and Otabek devouring each other's mouths like that would have grossed him out, but he didn’t mind it so much anymore. "It's fine," he said, deciding not to even mention the threesome thing. He’d rather forget that altogether.

Yuri grabbed one of his suitcases from the closet, deciding that while he waited for Mila to finish her shower, he might as well do some packing.

"Hey, can I borrow one of your sweaters?" Otabek asked.

"What happened to the one you wore last night?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I…uh…I spilled something on it, I think. There's a big stain."

Huh, that was strange. Yuri didn't remember Otabek spilling a drink on himself at the party, although his memories were admittedly a little hazy. It wasn't outside of the realm of possibility.

"Well, I don't know if I have one that will fit you…" Otabek was more muscular than he was, but Yuri searched through his dresser, finding a white cable-knit sweater that looked like it would be big enough for his frame. "Here," he said, tossing it to Otabek. "Try this."

Otabek held it up, inspecting it. "Hey, isn't this mine, the one Inzhu sent me for my birthday? I've been looking for it for weeks."

"Uh, maybe?" He had a vague memory of stealing one of Otabek's sweaters to wear to a holiday party, needing something oversized to wear with his outfit. "Consider it returned."

"Better late than never, I guess." Sighing, Otabek pulled the sweater over his head and yanked it down. It was a perfect fit. "Honestly, you and Mila… I wouldn't mind you two borrowing my clothes so much if you would at least have the courtesy to ask beforehand."

"Oh, Beka, when are you finally going to realize that your clothes are our clothes?" Mila asked, coming out of the bathroom dressed only in a towel, her hair still wet and slicked back. She kissed him on the cheek.

"And when are you going to learn not to walk around naked all the time?" Yuri said. Seriously, he was never going to room with her again.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm wearing a towel. It's not like you can see anything."

"Whatever. I'm going to go take my shower. Don't do anything gross." 


	2. Chapter 2

At  the World Championships a few weeks later, Otabek finally won his first World title, beating Yuri, who got the bronze. It was a flip-flop of their results at the Olympics, the two of them sandwiching JJ once again. Yuri was a little disappointed, but he didn't mind. Much. After all, his post-Olympic media appearances had severely limited his training time leading up to Worlds, to the point that he had almost considered skipping the event despite the pressure from the federation. Honestly, he'd been lucky to even make the podium, but it had been a poorly skated event all around. Only Otabek had risen to the occasion, skating two magnificent programs that  might  have seriously challenged Yuri for the gold if he had skated them as well at the Olympics.

In the ladies' event, Mila had an uncharacteristically poor showing, barely managing to stay in the top ten. She blamed the usual post-Olympics fatigue.

Looking gorgeous in slim-fitting black pants and a tuxedo jacket with no shirt underneath, Mila was chatting with her best friend Sara Crispino, who had managed to capture the bronze, when Yuri and Otabek joined them at the banquet closing out the competition. "Here, I thought this might cheer you up," Otabek said, holding out a champagne flute.

Her eyes lit up for a moment before she shook her head, declining the offered drink. "Thanks, but I don't really feel like drinking tonight."

Yuri raised an eyebrow at that. He never knew Mila to turn down alcohol, especially her beloved champagne. If he had been in her shoes, placing ninth after such an embarrassing performance at Worlds, he would be boozing until the bar ran dry.

"I'll take that if Mila doesn't want it," Sara said.

"Oh, sure." Otabek handed her the glass of champagne.

"Thanks." Accepting the flute, Sara glanced over at a nearby table, where her fiancé Emil was trying – unsuccessfully – to cheer up her twin brother Michele. Michele had been another victim of the post-Olympic let-down, earning his worst placement at Worlds ever. "Oh, dear, I should probably check on Mickey," she said, touching Mila's arm. The round diamond solitaire of her engagement ring sparkled in the light. "Call me when you know more, okay?"

"Yeah, of course." Mila managed a weak smile. "Thanks."

"What was that about?" Yuri asked after Sara was out of earshot. "Know more about what?"

"What?" She looked at Yuri as if she had just noticed he was present. "Oh, nothing important," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "We were talking about maybe going on a trip together sometime over the summer, just us girls. You know, before things get too crazy with planning the wedding."

"Awesome!" He had gotten used to sharing Otabek with Mila over the past four years, but he couldn't deny it would be nice to have some one-on-one Mila-free quality time for a change. "I mean, you should go," Yuri said, realizing he might have sounded too eager about the idea. "You and Sara always have fun together."

"Yeah…"

Otabek wrapped an arm around Mila's waist, kissing her temple. "Hey, are you feeling okay? You've been out of sorts ever since we arrived."

"I'm fine. Just a little tired, that's all. It's been a long season."

"If you're tired, then let's go back to our ro—"

"Beka, you're the new World Champion!" she said. "You can't skip out of the banquet.”

"You know these parties aren't really my thing."

"Oh, I don't know…" Yuri couldn't resist teasing. "You certainly knew how to party that night at the Olympics."

Sighing, Otabek pinched the bridge of his nose. "Don't even remind me of that. I've almost managed to block it out of my mind."

"Come on. At least you weren't as wild as Katsudon at the banquet in Sochi."

"Did someone happen to mention the night my life changed forever?" a familiar voice asked.

Viktor and Yuri, who had coached Kenjirou Minami to a surprise fifth place finish, walked over to join the group, Viktor throwing his arm around Yuri's shoulders.

"I remember it like it was yesterday. My Yuuri was the most hand—"

"Yeah, yeah, we've heard it a million times already, old man," Yuri said, rolling his eyes as he shrugged Viktor's arm away. "Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to eavesdrop on people's private conversations?"

"Hasn't anyone ever told you that you talk too loud?" Viktor shot back.

Ignoring the two of them, Yuuri turned his attention to Otabek. "Congratulations on your world title, Otabek. We saw your free program. You skated great."

"Thank you," Otabek said. "It still feels a little surreal, to be honest."

"I know what you mean. When I won my world title, I –"

At that moment, someone loudly clinked on their glass. Yuri glanced over his shoulder, rolling his eyes once again when he saw JJ Leroy standing at the front of the room, his wife Isabella glued to his side as usual. "What's that bozo up to now?"

Not particularly interested in anything JJ had to say, he turned back around, only to find that the silver medalist had grabbed his friends' attention as well – all except Mila, who hung back, hugging herself. Yuri frowned, thinking Otabek was right. Mila had been acting strange the past few days, even before the ladies' event began.

"Can I have your attention please?" JJ bellowed, his voice loud enough to fill the banquet hall even without the aid of a microphone. "Bella and I have the most amazing news to share." Smiling, he wrapped his arm around Isabella's waist and pulled her closer. "This is the biggest secret I've ever had to keep, but, well – do you want to spill the beans, or should I?"

"You do it, babe," Isabella said. She had an adoring look on her face as she looked up at him that almost made Yuri want to gag.

"You sure?" She nodded, and JJ moved to place a hand on her stomach, practically bursting with pride as he announced, "The truth is, Bella is three months pregnant. We're gonna have a baby!"

Everyone clapped and cheered, a few of JJ's Canadian teammates coming up to congratulate them personally. Even Yuri managed a polite applause, having mostly outgrown his teenage hatred of JJ. Now he was more like a mild annoyance, a fly to be swatted away when he got too close but otherwise easy to ignore.

"How wonderful!" Viktor said. "But who are they again?"

Beside him, Yuuri sighed. "Vitya, that joke has grown stale. You know perfectly well who they are."

"Oh, right!" Viktor hit his fist against his palm. "PJ and Annabel!"

"Your husband is an idiot," Yuri said to Yuuri, not for the first – and certainly not the last – time.

Smiling, Yuuri wrapped his arm around Viktor's waist and kissed his cheek. "Yes, but he's my idiot, so I guess I'll keep him."

"That wasn't right?" Viktor asked, tilting his head to the side.

At that point, Yuri wasn't sure if he was joking or not anymore; it could sometimes be hard to tell with Viktor.

"Anyway, I'm happy for them," Yuuri said. "Becoming a parent is one of the most amazing experiences in the world."

"How is little Nikusha, by the way?" Yuri asked. "You didn't bring him with you this time?"

"No, my sister's taking care of him while we're gone. It's nice for them to spend some time together every once in a while."

Yuuri's older sister Mari had served as their  egg donor , meaning she was Nikita's biological mother, while Yuuri was his uncle. Viktor, of course, was his father by blood. Yuri sometimes wondered if that was strange for Yuuri, knowing that Nikita wasn't biologically his son, but it never seemed to be an issue with them. The two of them were doting dads, full of love and adoration for their child.

At the mention of their son, Viktor's face lit up, and he pulled out his phone, eager as always to show off the latest photos of Nikita. As he and Yuuri launched into a story about Nikita's first visit to the aquarium, Yuri glanced around, realizing that Otabek and Mila had managed to slip away from the group without him noticing.

"Something wrong?" Viktor asked, sensing Yuri's distraction.

"You see Beka and Mila anywhere? They were just here a minute ago."

"No… Oh, wait, I think I see them. There they are."

Yuri turned in the direction Viktor indicated. Otabek and Mila were standing near the entrance of the banquet hall, Otabek rubbing her arms. She nodded at something he said, then he kissed her chastely on the forehead before Mila left the banquet without him. Yuri frowned, wondering what had happened.

"Go on," Yuuri encouraged him as he took Viktor's arm. "We're going to go congratulate _JJ and Isabella_." He emphasized their names for Viktor's benefit. "We'll catch up later."

Yuri walked over to where Otabek was still standing, staring at the door, and tapped his shoulder. Startled, Otabek jumped and turned around.

"Oh, Yura, it's you."

Yuri nodded his chin toward the door. "What's going on with Mila? Why did she leave?"

Otabek crossed his arms, frowning. "She said she wasn't feeling well, but…"

"You don't believe her?"

Sighing, Otabek rubbed at his forehead. "She's been acting strange, right? I'm not just imagining things?"

"No, you're not. I've noticed it, too," Yuri said. "You really have no idea what has been bothering her?

"At first I thought it was because she didn't skate very well, but she's been like this for the past few days."

"Maybe she really is sick. I heard there's been a stomach bug going around. Leo and Guang-Hong both got hit with it."

"Maybe," Otabek said. Yuri could tell he didn't really believe it, though.

"Hey, don't worry about it. I'm sure she'll be fine in a couple of days," Yuri said, grabbing Otabek's hand and pulling him toward the dance floor. "Come on, let's dance, World Champion."

Otabek grinned. "I like it when you call me that."

"Yeah, well, don't get too used to it. I'm taking the title back next season."

"We'll see…"

* * *

It was a stomach bug.

When Yuri walked Otabek up to the hotel room he was sharing with Mila after the banquet had ended, they entered to the disgusting sound of her retching in the en-suite bathroom. So that explained her bad skates and refusal to drink earlier, as Yuri suspected. "See, I told you. Nothing to worry about," he said to Otabek before saying good night and heading to his own room across the hall.

Mila was still sick a couple of days later when they returned home to St. Petersburg. As the new – and historic – World Champion, Otabek was expected to participate in a media junket, getting interviewed by journalists from all around the world. He'd wanted to cancel in light of Mila's illness, but she insisted she would be perfectly fine on her own for a few hours. That didn't prevent him from asking Yuri to check in on her every once in a while during his absence, though.

 _Beka worries too much,_ Yuri thought, carefully filling a Tupperware bowl with some of the leftover chicken soup he had made. It was just a stomach virus, not a terminal disease. After some bedrest, Mila would be fine. According to Otabek, she hadn't even thrown up that much since the night of the banquet – only twice since then – although she seemed pretty nauseated.

Well, if it eased Otabek's mind to know that Mila was being cared for while he was gone, Yuri wasn't going to argue, as unnecessary as he felt it was. The two of them lived together in the apartment right next door to his, so it wasn't like it was a huge sacrifice to pop over once or twice while Otabek was gone.

"Hey, Mila, I brought you some soup," Yuri announced, entering their apartment without knocking. The three of them had an open door policy, free to drop by each other's apartments whenever they wanted as long as the door was unlocked. On the occasions the door wasn't, that usually meant Otabek and Mila were engaging in certain…activities that Yuri wouldn't want to walk in on again – once was more than enough. "You hungry now or – What are you doing?"

He'd expected to find her curled up in a blanket on the couch, marathoning episodes of that American TV show about the demon-hunting brothers she loved so much. Instead, Mila had jumped up when he arrived, hiding her right hand behind her back. She was dressed only in one of Otabek’s sweatshirts and a pair of socks covered in hot-pink hearts.

"Y-Yura, why are you here?" she asked.

"My question first," Yuri said, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he set the bowl in his hands down on the coffee table. "What are you hiding?"

"Nothing!"

He didn't believe her. "If it's nothing, then show me your hand."

"This hand?" She held up her left hand. "See, nothing."

"You know which hand I'm talking about." He stepped closer toward her, reaching for her right arm. "Come on, just show me."

"Yura, it's none of your busi— Hey!"

Yuri managed to successfully pull her hidden hand back in front of her, her fist wrapped around what looked to be some kind of white stick. "What's that?" he asked, yanking his hand away when a horrifying thought occurred to him. "Oh, geez, tell me that's not a vibrator. Lock the door when you're doing that stuff!"

"What? No, of course not!"

"Then what –"

Sighing, Mila unfurled her fingers, revealing the object in full. Yuri's eyes widened in shock. Though he had never seen one in person before, he'd seen them advertised in commercials, so he recognized what the item was on sight.

"Are you –?"

"Maybe?" She rubbed her forehead with her free hand. "I don't know. I haven't found the courage to take the test yet." She slumped down on the couch, hiding her face in her hands after setting the unused pregnancy test on the coffee table. "Oh, God, how did this happen?"

Yuri bit back a snarky comment about the birds and the bees;  even he could tell it was  not the best time for joking around. He sat down beside Mila on the couch, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on her back and rubbing it around in comforting circles. "Does Beka know?"

Mila shook her head. "I didn't want to worry you two until I knew for certain. The only person I've told is Sara." She looked over at Yuri. "What am I going to do if it's positive, Yura?"

He inhaled deeply. "Don't think about that right now," he said, unable to come up with an answer. "Go take the test first. You might be worrying over nothing, you know."

"You're right." Steeling herself, she stood back up and snatched the test off the table. "You'll stay?"

He wasn't sure how his presence would help, but… "Yeah, of course. Whatever you want."

"Thanks," she said before heading to the master bathroom.

While she was gone, Yuri fell back against the couch cushions, staring blankly at the powered-off TV. A baby… Despite what he told Mila, he couldn't stop thinking about what would happen if she really was pregnant. They had never discussed the possibility of children or anything of that sort of nature. Perhaps naively, Yuri had assumed they would stay as they were for the rest of their lives, that nothing major would ever change between them, but a baby…

A baby  would change everything.

_Please let it just be a stomach bug,_ he prayed to a God he wasn't entirely sure he believed in. _Please!_

Yuri started to worry when Mila didn't come back out even after over ten minutes had passed. He didn't know how long it took to take a pregnancy test, but it seemed like she should have a result by now. Deciding to check on her, he headed to Mila's and Otabek's bedroom, his heart dropping to his stomach when he heard soft sobs coming from the en-suite bathroom.

Maybe they were tears of relief?

"Mila?" He lightly knocked on the bathroom door. "Hey, you okay in there?"

She didn't answer, but a short time later, the doorknob jangled and Mila came out, throwing herself in Yuri's arms.

"Oh, Yura…"

"H-Hey!" Yuri sighed and wrapped his arms around her trembling body, letting her cry into his T-shirt. There was no point in asking about the test result. "It's going to be okay," he said into her hair. "We'll figure things out."

He hoped.

He had no idea how long they stood there, Mila soaking his shirt with her tears, but after a while, Yuri faintly heard the sound of a door opening and closing, a familiar male voice calling Mila's name. Good, Otabek was home from his  media junket. He was better at the whole comforting thing than Yuri was.

"Bedroom!" Yuri shouted.

A few seconds later, the bedroom door opened and Otabek came in. "Yura, what – Milasha? What's wrong?"

Yuri passed Mila over to a confused Otabek, their eyes meeting for a brief moment before he shook his head. It wasn't his news to share. "I'll give you two some privacy."

"Wait." She pulled away from Otabek's embrace, using her hands to wipe the tears from her face. "Don't go, Yura. This affects all three of us."

"…Okay."

Otabek's eyes darted between Mila and Yuri. "Milasha, what's going on? You're starting to scare me."

Mila took one of each of their hands and led them over to the bed, the three of them sitting down on the edge of the mattress. She didn't say anything for a long moment, closing her eyes and inhaling a deep breath as she attempted to compose herself. Noticing that her hand was shaking, Yuri gave it a squeeze, offering silent support. Her lips curled into a small, grateful smile before turning her attention to Otabek.

"Beka…I'm pregnant."

* * *

"Yura, you still awake?" a male voice whispered, the door to his bedroom creaking open later that night.

Laying on his side facing away from the door, Yuri reached behind himself and lifted his blanket in invitation. The intruder crawled onto the bed and slipped underneath the blanket, wrapping an arm around Yuri's waist as he pressed up against his back.

"Did you and Mila have a fight?" Yuri asked after a couple of minutes. It wasn't unusual for Otabek to come to him in the middle of the night on the rare occasions when he and Mila argued.

"A fight? No, not really." Otabek sighed, his warm breath brushing against the back of Yuri's neck. "It's just… I don't know."

Yuri reached over to turn on the lamp on the nightstand, then flipped around so that he and Otabek were laying face-to-face. "Are you happy? About the baby?" He'd left their apartment soon after Mila dropped the bombshell, assuming they had a lot to discuss and not wanting to intrude.

Otabek shrugged. "It hasn't sunk in yet, I don't think. It doesn't feel real."

"Yeah." He kind of understood the feeling. He still couldn't believe Mila was pregnant, half-expecting her to come barging in at any moment, shouting "April Fool's!" even though the first of April was still a couple of days away. Not even a known trickster like Mila would play such a cruel prank on them, though. "How's Mila handling it?"

"She's scared, confused… She doesn't know what she wants to do." Groaning, Otabek rolled over on his back, covering his face with his hands. "She keeps asking me what I think, but I'm still trying to wrap my head around everything… I just want her to do what is best for her."

It was a difficult decision, especially when keeping the baby would almost certainly mean the end of Mila's competitive skating career. Sure, every once in a while a female skater would attempt to stage a comeback after pregnancy, but it was rare for them to achieve the same success as they had before. The only exception Yuri could recall off the top of his head was the legendary pairs skater Ekaterina Gordeeva, but that was almost thirty years ago. The technical demands were much more difficult nowadays, especially for singles skaters. Already, at  only twenty-three years old, Mila was having trouble keeping up with the younger generation of girls who were now attempting triple axels and even quads.

"Maybe it would be best not to go through with it," Yuri said in a soft voice. "If my mother had gotten an ab–"

Otabek abruptly flipped back on his side, propping himself up on his elbow. "Yura, don't." He brought his palm to Yuri's cheek, caressing the side of his face. "I know you and your mother aren't on the best of terms, but not a day goes by that I'm not grateful that she gave birth to you."

"Beka…" Yuri averted his eyes away from Otabek. "You want her to keep the baby, don't you?"

"Maybe?" He laid back down, pulling his hand away. "I don't know. I mean, if Mila wants to keep it, of course I'll support her, but I never really thought… This wasn't supposed to happen."

"How _did_ it happen?" Yuri asked. "Of course I know the mechanics and all, but you use protection, right?" He knew Mila didn't – something about hormonal birth control giving her side effects, like weight gain and migraines, that interfered with her skating – but Otabek was one of the most responsible people he knew. Yuri couldn't imagine him not taking the necessary precautions.

"Of course, always. Except…" He lowered his eyes. "Remember that night at the Olympics? The last night?"

"Yeah." Vaguely. It was mostly a boozy haze now.

"I don't," Otabek admitted. "At least, not much after we left the party. I was pretty smashed – we both were. We went up to yours and Mila's room, and I'm pretty sure we had sex, but I don't remember if I used a condom or not. Probably not. I don't think I had any on hand, and when I woke up, my sweater was covered in…you know, stuff."

Yuri stared at Otabek in disbelief. "Beka, you were at the Olympics. There were free condoms all over the place!"

"I know, I know!" He sat up, elbows resting on his knees as he pulled at his hair. "I ruined Mila's life. She trusted me to protect her, but I… I…"

Covering his mouth with his hand, Otabek's shoulders trembled as he choked back what sounded almost like a sob.

It was a sight Yuri was unused to seeing. Uncertain as to what he should do, he sat up as well, hesitantly wrapping his arms around Otabek's torso and leaning against his back. Otabek let out a shaky breath, but after a few moments, Yuri felt him begin to relax in his arms.

"You shouldn't put all the blame on yourself, Beka," Yuri said. "It was a drunken mistake, and it takes two to tango."

Truthfully, he was partially at fault as well. If he hadn't encouraged Otabek to drink so much at the afterparty, then sent the two of them off on their own despite knowing that they were too drunk to make responsible decisions, they probably wouldn't be in this situation.

" I know , but –" Otabek sighed,  running his hand through his hair . “ What the hell are we going to do?”

“ I don’t know.” It wasn’t his decision to make.  Yuri knew what o ption he was hoping they would c hoose , but...  “ If you two do decide to keep it, though,” he said, letting go of his hold on Otabek and drawing his knees to his chest, “don’t ever let it feel like it was a mistake, okay?”

“Yura...”

Otabek turned to look at him, but Yuri glanced away, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “Anyway, you still have some time, right? Mila’s not that far along if it was conceived the night of the Closing Ceremony. You two don’t have to make a decision right this minute, so, um, just think things through, I guess?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Otabek said, exhaling before giving him a small smile. “Thanks, Yura.”

Yuri d idn’t think he had said anything  that u se ful, honestly, but if  it had helped Otabek fee l a little better, he supposed that was all right.

“I should probably go. Sorry for disturbing you.”

"Wait." Yuri reached for Otabek’s wrist as he climbed out of the bed. "You can kiss me, if you want." They didn't kiss often. Yuri didn't hate it, but he didn't really care much for it either. He kissed Otabek on his birthday, on New Year's and Valentine's Day, and whenever he won a gold medal, but that was about it, except on rare occasions when he thought Otabek could use some comfort or cheering up. This definitely qualified.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Otabek climbed back onto the bed, hesitating for a moment before pressing his lips against Yuri's in a soft, gentle kiss. "Thank you."

"Go back to Mila," Yuri said. "She needs you right now."

"Right. Good night, Yura."

"'Night."

Yuri pulled the blanket back over himself as Otabek once again left the bed, but when he reached the door, Otabek turned back around.

"Hey, Yura?"

"Yeah?"

"I might be grateful to your mother for having you," Otabek said, "but she really is a bitch. You were never a mistake, and she's an idiot for never realizing that."

He smiled sadly. A better person might have been insulted to hear his mother referred to as a bitch, but Yuri had never claimed to be a good – or even decent – son. "Thanks."

* * *

A couple of weeks later, Yuri was making a batch of his grandpa's famous katsudon pirozhkis when Otabek and Mila came over, Mila letting out a loud moan the second she stepped through the door.

"See, I told you he was making pirozkhis," she smugly said to Otabek as she took a seat at the kitchen island and grabbed one off the plate he had already set aside.

Yuri, over at the stove, looked over his shoulder and cocked an eyebrow. "What, have you suddenly developed psychic powers?"

"No, just an increase in the sensitivity of her nose," Otabek said. "She claims she could smell you cooking the second we stepped off the elevator."

"Well, I did, and I was right, wasn't I?" Mila said. "Even Dr. Sotnikova said it was a common occurrence in pregnant women." She broke off a piece of the pirozhki in her hand and took a bite, letting out another loud moan. "Oh, my god, these are _soooo_ good, Yura. I love it when you make pirozhkis!"

"Thanks," he said, taking the last pirozhki out of the frying pan and setting it on some paper towels to soak up any excess oil. "So, um, your appointment was today?"

"Yeah." Mila took a deep breath, some of her earlier joviality fading away. "We just got back."

"Oh."

Yuri wiped his hands with a nearby towel before taking off his apron and turning around to fully face them for the first time since they arrived. Otabek had moved to stand behind Mila on the stool, his hands resting on her shoulders.

"You've made a decision, then?" Yuri asked. "About the baby?"

They had chosen to wait until after Mila's first prenatal appointment to make their final decision about what to do, giving them time to think things over. Yuri already had a good idea which option they were leaning toward, having walked in on Mila the other day stuffing a throw pillow underneath her T-shirt to simulate the look of a pregnant belly, but a part of him still hoped he was wrong.

Mila nodded. "We went over all the options with my gyno, and after a long talk on our way home…" She reached for Otabek's hand on her right shoulder, craning her neck up to give him a soft smile. "We decided we're keeping the baby."

Yuri's heart dropped. So his guess had been correct, after all. "Are you sure? I mean, you'll have to give up ska–"

"It's fine," she said. "I was already thinking of retiring from competition anyway. I can't really compete technically anymore with the new juniors coming up. Sara's retiring, too. It's a teenager's game now, not made for us old hags." She smiled at the reference to Yuri's old nickname for her. "Besides, I've had a great career. I have no regrets."

"Yura, we've given this a lot of thought, and we want this baby," Otabek added, his eyes meeting Yuri's over Mila's head. " _Genuinely_ want it."

"T-Then, that's great," Yuri said, hiding his disappointment behind a forced grin. "Congratulations!"

"Don't tell anyone yet, though," Mila warned. "I want to make it through the first trimester before we make a public announcement."

"Hey, I'm not Phichit. It's not like I'm going to blab it all over Instagram." Over two years later, and Viktor still hadn't fully forgiven Yuuri's best friend for accidentally spilling the beans about their surrogacy news in a comment.

"You better not." She hopped down from her stool and snatched another pirozhki from the plate, shrugging at Yuri's pointed look. "Hey, baby's hungry. Anyway, I'm going to run to the store to pick up some things for dinner. Beka, you need anything while I'm out?"

"I'm running low on shaving cream."

"Okay, I'll get some more," she said, pecking Otabek on the cheek. "See you later."

With that, Mila left, Yuri staring at the door as it closed behind her. "Is she really okay giving up her competitive career?" he asked. "If she really tried, I bet she could learn at least a triple axel to keep up with those jumping beans. Her double axel is really good! And everyone knows she's the best when it comes to the artistic side."

Otabek's face softened. "Mila isn't your mother, Yura."

"I know! But, still…"

"Of course a part of her is sad to retire, but she's had a long, successful career. Four Olympic medals and two World titles is more than most skaters can even dream to achieve."

"Yeah, I guess…" Yuri said, wetting a washcloth to wipe away the flour still on the island from when he had kneaded his dough earlier.

Otabek, coming up behind Yuri, hugged him around the waist, resting his chin on Yuri's shoulder. "Yura, please be happy for us."

Yuri sighed. He wanted to be. He hated that he was feeling jealous  of  a baby who wasn't even born yet, a baby who had done nothing wrong except  simply  exist. "Are  _you_ happy?" he asked. "Really and truly?"

"Yeah, I really am," Otabek said. "It was a shock at first, but the more I think about it, the more excited I become. I'm gonna be a _father_."

"Then I'm happy for you," Yuri said, a little more truthfully than he had when they first broke the news to him. Otabek's happiness meant the world to him, and if keeping the baby was what he and Mila truly wanted, then... Well, he would just have to learn to accept it. Turning around to face Otabek, he smiled and gave him a hug. "You're gonna be the best father, Beka."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: “Yuri!! On Ice” doesn’t belong to me.
> 
> AUTHOR’S NOTES: I hope you enjoyed! Next chapter should be up in October.
> 
> Though I don’t consider it technically a part of the “It’s Complicated” universe, if you want some backstory about how Sara and Emil became a couple, you can check out my fic, “No Risk, No Reward”.
> 
> Feel free to follow me on Tumblr! My username is kaleidodreams.


	3. Chapter 3

"Yura, wake y-wakey !"

"What the fuck?"

Yuri groggily sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Mila and Otabek, already dressed, were standing at the  end  of his bed,  Mila reaching down to tickle the foot sticking out  from underneath  the blanket . "What the hell are you two doing here?" he asked,  kicking her hand away and feeling around the mattress for his phone. "Do you know what time – Oh."

It was already well after ten. Jet lag after spending the past few weeks touring the United States as a special guest on _Stars On Ice_ was apparently still kicking his ass, even though he had been home for a couple of days already.

"I've decided today's the day," Mila said.

"The day for what?"

"The day I announce my pregnancy. I'm officially three months along. The risk of miscarriage is much lower now, and I'm starting to show, so Beka and I decided it was about time to tell everyone."

"Cool. Congrats," Yuri mumbled, falling back on his pillow. He could barely keep his eyes open, starting to drift back to sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

"Yura!" Mila pulled his blanket off of him. "Come on, get up!"

"Why?" he groaned, propping himself back up as he glared at her. "I'm tired. Let me sleep, hag."

"You're never going to get back on St. Petersburg time if you sleep all day,"  she said. "Besides, we need you to take a picture of us for Instagram."

"Fine." He reached again for his discarded phone and held it up to Mila and Otabek. "Say ‘cheese’."

"Not here, idiot. The lighting's terrible. We're going outside. It's a beautiful day today, so wake up and get dressed."

"Beka…"

So far Otabek had yet to say a word, but he shrugged when Yuri looked over at him. "She does have a point about not sleeping all day, you know," he said. "We'll take you out for brunch afterwards?"

Yuri sighed, running a hand through his tangled hair as he threw his legs over the side of the bed. "Okay, okay, let me take a shower first, then I'll take your damn picture."

By the time he took a hot shower, dressed, and prepared himself a thermos full of coffee, Yuri was mostly awake. Well, half-awake, at least.

"Where's Mila?" he asked Otabek, who was sitting on the couch, dangling a fishing pole toy over Potya's head as the cat swatted at the rainbow-hued fish.

"She went to change clothes again."

"What do you mean 'again'? How many times has it been?"

"Three…no, I think this is the fourth time. I keep telling her she looks beautiful, but I think she's feeling self-conscious about her weight gain."

Yuri rolled his eyes, chugging down his coffee. If she was going to make him wait, the least she could have done was let him sleep a few minutes longer.

Mila returned to Yuri’s apartment a short time later, dressed in a simple white sundress and strappy sandals, a pretty pink flower barrette pinned above her left ear, showing off a little of her undercut. It was a very different look from the baggy sweats (mostly borrowed from Otabek) she’d been living in for the past month out of paranoia of gossip spreading before she made the announcement – not that it had stopped the rumors, anyway. “Do I look okay in this?” she asked, smoothing a few non-existent wrinkles out of her dress.

Otabek set down the cat toy and stood, smiling as he walked over to her. “You look gorgeous, Milasha,” he said, kissing her temple and bringing a hand to the tiny bump outlined through the fabric. “Right, Yura?”

“ Uh, yeah, you look nice,” Yuri said, glancing away and pretending to check the messages on his phone. Since he’d been out of the country on tour for most of the past month, it was the first time he had really seen Mila’s new figure. “ Come on, let’s go. I’m hungry. The faster I take this picture, the sooner we can eat.”

He brushed past them as he exited the apartment, Mila and Otabek following after him.

Mila decided a nearb y pedestrian bridge extending over the canal would provide the best backdrop for the picture. Luckily, as it was a weekday and most people were at work, there weren’t many people around. Yuri took his spot on  the right side of the bridge,  leaning back against the railing while Mila and Otabek hashed out the details.

“How about I just take a photo of you instead?” Otabek  suggested, his dislike of having his picture taken well known.  “Is it really necessary for me to be in it, too?” 

“Please, Beka. It’s just one picture. You promised. Besides, we already dragged Yura out of bed for this.”

“But – ”

“If you do, I’ll...” The rest she whispered in Otabek’s ear, much to Yuri’s relief. Judging by the look on Otabek’s face, the less he heard, the better.

“Hey, are we gonna do this, or not?” Yuri asked, not caring either way if it was him or Otabek who took the picture as long as he still got treated to brunch.

Mila raised an eyebrow at Otabek, who sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, okay. What do you want me to do?”

She moved Otabek to the spot where she wanted him to stand while Yuri pulled his phone back out of his pocket. "Stand over he— Wait, Yura, not with your phone," she said, digging around in the tote she had brought along.

Yuri rolled his eyes. "Does it really matter whose phone we use? We all have the same model. I can send you the pics later."

"Yeah, but I want you to use this instead." She pulled out a camera and handed it to Yuri.

Yuri recognized it as one of Otabek's fancy digital cameras. A couple of years ago,  he’d taken up an interest in photography, discovering that while he disliked having his photo taken, he actually enjoyed being the one behind the lens. He was pretty good at it, too, having entered a few photography contests at Yuri's and Mila's urging. He hadn't won anything yet, but one of his photos had been chosen as a finalist in the last competition he had entered.

"What the hell? Mila, is this really necessary?" Yuri hit a button at random, snapping a blurry, off-center pic of Mila's sandals. "How do you even work this damn thing?" He was a pro at taking selfies with his phone, but this was beyond his expertise.

Otabek walked over, taking the camera from Yuri's hands. "Here, let me fiddle with the settings first…" He went through the menus with practiced ease, making the adjustments he needed, then took a practice shot of Yuri's annoyed face. "Yeah, that looks good. So, I have it set to autofocus, so all you need to do is press the shutter when you're ready to take the picture. If you decide the picture is no good, you can hit this button to delete it, otherwise, it'll automatically save and you're ready to take the next one. Got it?" he asked, handing the camera back.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't blame me if these look like crap, though."

"Yura, you'll do fine," Mila said, taking Otabek by the arm and leading him back to where he was standing before.

"Okay, how should we pose?" Otabek asked Mila, who was tapping her finger against her chin in thought.

"Hmm, maybe you can kneel down in front of me and kiss my belly?"

Yuri stuck a finger in his mouth, pretending to gag. "Veto! I'm not taking any gross pictures."

"Fine. Let's just take a bunch of pics, and then I'll use the best one. Yura, you ready?"

"Yeah. Let's just get this over with already." He was hungry and still tired from the jetlag, despite the coffee he had guzzled down.

Yuri brought the camera up to his face and began taking pictures as Mila and Otabek went through various poses.

There was a reason why Otabek's Instagram was mostly filled with pictures of Mila, Yuri, and Potya, with the occasional pretty landscape or training video. Despite being a good-looking guy, Otabek was not the most photogenic, looking more like he was in pain whenever he forced himself to smile for the camera. It was even more evident when compared to Mila, who practically glowed. The camera loved her. Yuri ended up deleting more pictures than he saved, but even the ones he kept were just borderline acceptable at best.

"Okay, that should be enough," Mila said after a few minutes. "Did you get some good ones, Yura?"

"Uh…" He tried to think of something nice to say, not wanting to hurt Otabek's feelings. "You look really pretty in them?"

"Aw, that's sweet! Weird to hear you say, but sweet. Let me see." She took the camera from Yuri's hands and began swiping through the roll of pictures he had taken. "Oh…um…"

Otabek covered his face with his hand, already knowing the problem without even seeing the photos. "You two know I look horrible in photographs. This is why you should have let me take your picture like I suggested."

"You can take all the pictures of me you want later tonight, just like I promised."

"Oh, gross," Yuri said, realizing what she was implying. "I did not need to know that."

"Sorry, Yura." She continued looking through the photos. "Anyway, you don't look that horrible… Okay, that one's pretty bad. And that one. And th—"

Walking over, Otabek snatched the camera out of her hand. "They're all bad. I know, I know. Can I erase them now?"

"No, wait, that one was actually kind of nice!"

"Really?" Yuri didn't recall taking any especially good photos. He and Mila looked over Otabek's shoulders at the picture on the viewer. "Hey, you're right. That one's not bad at all."

Unlike most of the other photos, it was a candid, taken during a break when Yuri had to stop and pull his hair back into a ponytail because his bangs kept falling in his face. Otabek had his arm casually slung over Mila's shoulder, his face turned mostly away from the camera as he kissed the top of a giggling Mila's head, while Mila's hand was on her stomach, subtly drawing attention to the small swell of her belly. Though the picture itself was off-center, Yuri having taken it on impulse, that was easily fixed with some simple cropping.

"Yeah, I've decided," she said, taking the camera from Otabek. "That's the picture I'm going to use for my retirement an—" Her voice unexpectedly cracking, Mila covered her mouth with her hand.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Mirroring the photo, Otabek again wrapped an arm around her shoulder and kissed the top of her hair.

Mila shook her head. "Sorry, stupid hormones." Swiping a hand across her cheek, she pulled away from his embrace. "Um… You know, I'm not feeling very hungry at the moment. Why don't you and Yura go out for brunch without me?"

"Milasha…"

She forced a weak smile. "I'm fine, really. Just feeling a little nauseous. Go on, have fun."

She kissed Otabek chastely on the cheek then headed back to their apartment building, Otabek frowning as he watched her walk away. Yuri came up beside him, crossing his arms.

"Shouldn't you go after her? She seemed pretty upset."

"Would you mind?" Otabek asked, glancing over at him. "I know we promised you brunch…"

"I'll take a rain check," Yuri said, giving him a light shove forward. "Go. She needs you."

"Thanks."

* * *

Though tempted to go back to his apartment and climb back into bed, Yuri resisted the urge, knowing that it really was best to stay awake and try to get readjusted to St. Petersburg time. Besides, his stomach was growling with hunger, so he walked to a nearby café.

He, Otabek, and Mila were semi-regulars. The food wasn't the greatest and the coffee, quite frankly, sucked, but it was rarely busy, meaning they could usually eat in peace without being hounded for autographs and selfies. When he arrived, he was the only customer, so he had his pick of tables. He chose one in the back, sliding into the booth as the waitress came over to take his order.

"Just you today?" Maria, the daughter of the café's owners, asked, pulling a pad and pencil from her apron.

"Yeah. I'll have the usual."

She scribbled the order down and smiled. "Okay, I'll have that out for you right away."

While he waited for his food, Yuri pulled out his phone, checking his Twitter feed first before switching over to the Instagram app. The single good photo of Mila and Otabek he had taken was one of the first to load, accompanied by Mila's retirement message:

_Yes, the rumors are true. I'm officially retiring from competitive skating. I want to thank you fans for all your support over the years. It means so much to me that I was able to touch your hearts in some way. It was never all about the medals for me – although the medals were pretty nice! I loved sharing my skating with you all, and I hope to see you again on the ice in some capacity. I also want to thank my long-time coach, Yakov Feltsman, all the wonderful choreographers I've had the honor of working with over the years, and the incredible friends I've made along the way, especially Yura and Sara. You two are the best friends a girl could ask for! Above all, I want to thank Otabek Altin – my partner, my lover, and the father of my child. I love you so much, Beka, and I can't wait to start the next chapter of our lives together. (Photo courtesy of @_ _yuri_plisetsky_ _)_

Even though it had only been posted a few minutes ago, it already had over two hundred "likes", and messages were pouring in from fans and other skaters alike, mourning her retirement but congratulating Mila on her pregnancy. Yuri tapped on the "like" button as well, but froze when it came to writing a comment, unsure of what to say.

He wished he could say nothing. The "like" alone would be enough for a normal person, but he _wasn't_ a normal person. He was Yuri Nikolayevich Plisetsky, the gold-medal winning Ice Tiger of Russia with over a million followers and counting. With that came the expectation that of course he would comment on something as huge and momentous as his queerplatonic partner having a baby with his romantic partner. To ignore it would only spark rumors that he was unhappy with the pregnancy announcement, that he and Otabek were breaking up… He knew how fast the rumor mill worked amongst his "Angels", and the last thing he wanted was for them to start attacking Otabek and Mila out of some misguided – but perhaps not altogether unfounded – belief that they had broken his heart.

He was still staring blankly at the screen when Maria returned to his booth, setting  a plate of blinis  topped with salmon and sour cream  in front of him. Startled by her sudden appearance, Yuri jumped, putting his phone aside while still open to Mila's post.

Maria smiled, nodding toward the phone. "I just saw that picture, too," she said. "It's wonderful news! Not about Mila retiring, of course, but a baby! You three must be so excited, huh?"

Yuri never realized Maria knew so much about their personal lives, although he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. After all, they were three successful athletes who regularly patronized her family's rundown café; anyone would be curious. "Y-Yeah, it's great," he said, reaching for a fork. "Beka and Mila are really happy about it."

If Maria took note that he didn't include himself, she didn't show it. "Well, tell them 'congratulations' for me," she said, casually touching his shoulder as she headed back to the kitchen, "and let me know if there's anything else you need."

After she disappeared behind the door, Yuri set down his fork and once again reached for his phone. The words had yet to come to him, so he closed out of the app, deciding he would try again later. He probably had a day to comment before the Angels suspected something was up.

He was about to put his phone back in his pocket when he received a FaceTime notification from Viktor. He and Yuuri had probably just seen the news as well. Though tempted to ignore it, not really in the mood to talk to the "Doting Dumbass Dads" (as he often referred to them in his head), Yuri knew from previous experience that Viktor would keep trying to call him until he finally answered, so he decided he might as well get it over with.

Accepting the call, he winced when Viktor answered by promptly blowing a noisemaker.

"Congratulations, Papa!"

Yuri rubbed at his ear, glaring at the skating legend through the screen. "Geez, warn a person before you bust their eardrum, will you? And who are you calling Papa?"

"You, silly!" Viktor said. "Mila's pregnant, right? We just saw her message on Instagram."

"Yeah, with Beka's baby, not mine. Obviously." Viktor could be an idiot at times, but certainly he wasn't _that_ dense.

"But aren't the three of you –"

In the background, Yuri heard what sounded like Yuuri's voice. "Look who woke up from his nap," the voice cooed, Viktor looking off to the side at something off camera.

"Nikusha! Perfect timing," Viktor said, his entire face lighting up. "Come say 'hi' to your Uncle Yurio." He adjusted the position of his phone so that Nikita, now sitting in Yuuri's lap, was visible.

Once again, Yuri marveled at how much the kid really looked like Viktor and Yuuri's biological son, as impossible as that might be. He had inherited the majority of Viktor's facial features, including his trademark heart-shaped smile, but his eyes were Yuuri's (and Mari's), dark and expressive. He also had Yuuri's ink black hair, which was currently a tangled mess after his nap, the strands sticking up every which way.

"How many times do I have to tell you my name isn't –"

"Hi, Unca Yurio!" Nikita said, waving at the camera.

_Great, they've already infected the kid,_ Yuri thought. Now he was going to be stuck with the stupid nickname for life.

But he had to admit that it sounded pretty cute coming from Nikita's mouth. "Hey, Nikusha. Cool shirt." He was wearing a black T-shirt with the English words "Born To Be Wild" printed on the front in leopard-print block letters.

"It's the one you sent him for Christmas. I think it's his favorite," Yuuri said. "He always wants to wear it."

"Well, at least he already has a good sense of style."

"By the way, I hear congratulations are in order," Yuuri said as the camera panned back up, his and Viktor's faces filling the screen. "It's wonderful news! Are you excited to be a father?"

Yuri rolled his eyes. Not Yuuri, too… Viktor was a bad influence. "Can either of you idiots read? Beka's the father, not me."

"I can't believe you didn't tell us that we're going to be grandfathers," Viktor said with a pout, not paying any attention to a word Yuri said. "We had to learn the news from Instagram!"

"You're not my dads, either. Seriously, go take a biology class sometime."

"Biology doesn't necessarily make somebody a dad, Yurio," Yuuri reminded him, kissing the top of Nikita's head.

Yuri immediately regretted his choice of words; he knew that perhaps better than anyone. After all, he hardly considered the unknown man who impregnated his mother as a teenager his father. For that matter, his mother wasn't much of a mother, either.

"Oh, right. Sorry," he apologized. "Still, you two aren't my fathers. That's just…weird. More like big brothers, maybe. _Maybe_. And Mila's baby has nothing to do with me."

Yuuri frowned, a concerned look in his eyes. "Did you and Otabek break up? Is that the proper term when you end a queerplatonic relationship?"

"No, not exactly…"

"What does that mean?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. It's…complicated," Yuri said, regretting he had let slip his conflicted feelings about the baby. "It's not like I can go to the library and check out ‘How To Deal When Your Queerplatonic Partner Has A Baby With His Girlfriend.’"

Viktor and Yuuri exchanged a look. "Yurio, if you're confused about where you stand, it sounds like you and Otabek need to have a talk," Viktor said.

He knew Viktor was right, but Yuri didn't want to talk about it. Not yet, anyway. For just a little while longer, he wanted to hold onto Otabek and pretend that nothing was going to change between them. "We'll figure it out," he said, brushing it off as if it was only a minor concern. "Anyway, I have to go. I have an interview to get ready for."

"Oh, okay. We don't want to keep you. Give Mila and Otabek our love and congratulations."

"Say bye-bye to Uncle Yurio, Niki-chan," Yuuri said, standing Nikita up on his legs so that his face joined theirs on the screen.

"Bye-bye!"

"Bye, Nikusha," Yuri said before ending the call and tossing some banknotes on the table to cover his uneaten meal.

He wasn't very hungry anymore.

* * *

Yuri spent the next couple of hours wandering around the city, engaging in a little retail therapy. Shopping for new clothes usually cheered him up when he was feeling down, but it wasn't working as well as it usually did. As he left the fifth store, his arms laden with bags full of clothes that he would probably never wear, his cell phone started ringing.

"Yeah?" he answered after struggling to pull the phone out of his pocket without setting any of his bags down.

"Yura, hey, where are you?" Otabek asked. "You've been gone a while."

"Oh…out. Decided to do a little shopping."

He glanced down at the six or seven bags currently hanging off his left arm. "Little" was a bit of an understatement. Years of watching Viktor spend money like it was going out of style had been a bad influence on him now that Yuri actually had some real money of his own.

"Are you almost done? We're ordering a pizza for lunch."

"Pizza?" Yuri's stomach growled, reminding him that he still hadn't eaten anything.

"Yeah, I know, but Mila's craving carbs, and it is the off-season… A cheat day won't hurt."

"What kind?"

"What kind do you want?"

"Supreme." If Yuri was going to indulge, he was gonna _indulge_. "Get some breadsticks, too."

Otabek chuckled. "Okay, sounds good. What time do you think you'll be back?"

He checked the time on his phone. He was about a twenty minute walk away from the apartment – less if he took a cab, but if he was going to pig out on forbidden pizza and breadsticks, the athlete in him knew it was probably a better idea to walk and get some more exercise beforehand. "Two-thirty-ish?" Yuri gave himself a five minute buffer to drop his bags off at his apartment.

"We'll be waiting. Come over whenever you're ready."

It seemed Yuri miscalculated the time it would take to walk home. By the time the elevator slid open on their floor, it was already a couple of minutes after two-thirty. He still dropped the bags off at his place, though, before heading to Otabek's and Mila's apartment next door.

"— given this a lot of thought. This isn't some whim, Mama. … See, this is why I didn't tell you sooner! … No, I haven't decided yet. I definitely want to do some shows when I get back in shape, but… Coaching? I don't know. Maybe. I'll think about it… No… No!"

Mila was pacing around the living room, phone to her ear, when Yuri arrived. Otabek, sitting at the island, brought a finger to his lips and motioned for Yuri to come join him.

After quietly closing the door behind him, Yuri walked over to the island and hopped on the stool next to Otabek. "So, I'm guessing Mama Babicheva wasn't too thrilled to find out she's going to be a grandma, huh?" he asked in a low voice.

He had only met Mila's mother a handful of times over the years, but she wasn't one of Yuri's favorite people, reminding him of a stricter, harsher, and more bitter Lilia – and not in a good way. She had a bad habit of thinking she knew what was best for her daughter, always trying to push Mila into the decisions she wanted her to make.

"Honestly, I think she's more upset that Mila didn't tell her the news herself. Her dad called a little earlier. He was pretty shocked, but I think he was mostly happy once the idea sunk in a little more," Otabek said, handing him a plate. "Anyway, grab a slice if you want. Mila said we can start eating without her."

Yuri glanced down at the medium, thin-crust pizza sitting in the open box on the counter, next to a bag of his breadsticks and a bowl of salad. Half of the pizza was the supreme he had requested; the other half was topped with ham and little yellow bits of…

"Is that…pineapple?" he asked, wrinkling his nose.

"Yeah. Mila's pick."

Side-eyeing the ham-and-pineapple half, Yuri selected a slice of the supreme pizza and set it on his plate, alongside a couple of breadsticks. Some things simply did not belong on a pizza, and he was pleased to see Otabek had the good taste to select a slice of the supreme as well to go with his serving of healthy salad .  (Then again, O tabek rarely ate pork anyway.) Mila could have that crime against food all to herself. 

"No, we're not getting married," Mila said, continuing her talk with her mother. Yuri saw her rolling her eyes before she spun back around. "Because we're happy the way things are. … Mama, having a baby is not a good reason to get married. You should know that better than anyone!" Even from where they sat across the room, Yuri and Otabek could hear  Mila’s mother 's voice booming on the other end of the line, Mila wincing and holding the phone away from her ear. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry," she apologized when her mother finished with her tirade. "That was way out of line, but my point still stands… Because we don't want to, Mama. It wouldn't be fair to Yura."

At the sound of his name, Yuri paused mid-bite, setting his half-eaten breadstick back down on the plate.

"Oh my god, for the thousandth time, Yura isn't Beka's boyfriend! They're queerplatonic partners," Mila said, running a hand through her hair in obvious frustration. Between their three families, Mila's mother had always been the least accepting of their unconventional relationship, feeling that Mila deserved to be with someone who loved her alone. "How many times do I have to explain to you that Yura is asexual? It means – … That's none of your damn business! … Mama… Mama… Can you please just be happy for us? I'm having a baby, your first grandchild. … I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier. … Yes, I promise no more sharing life-changing news on Instagram without telling you first… Not going to happen… I love you, too, Mama. Talk to you later. Bye."

With that, Mila ended the call, making a noise somewhere between a growl and  a  shriek as she shook the phone in her hand before finally letting out a huge sigh and joining Yuri and Otabek at the island. She didn't even bother with a plate, grabbing a slice of the blasphemous ham-and-pineapple pizza and bringing it straight to her mouth to take a huge bite.

Otabek wrapped his free arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of Mila's head. "That bad?"

"Actually, she took it better than I thought she would," Mila said after swallowing, "but, yeah, still pretty bad." She let out another sigh, reaching for the last plate to set her slice of pizza on. "Don't get me wrong. I love my mother, but sometimes I just want to….argh!" She held up her hands, fingers curled into claws. "Can we switch mothers? Yours is such a sweetheart."

"Sorry. I love you, but…no."

"Don't blame you, honestly," Mila said, turning her attention to Yuri. "Sorry you had to walk in on – Hey, something wrong, Yura? Do you not like your pizza? I thought you told Beka you wanted supreme."

"Huh?"

Yuri lifted his chin off the fist he had it propped on, looking down at his plate. Without even realizing it, he had picked off the majority of his toppings.

"You can have some of mine if you want," she offered, pushing the box toward him. "It's really delicious!"

"Yeah, no, thanks." He picked up a small handful of the discarded toppings and sprinkled them back on top. "The supreme is fine."

She shrugged. "Your loss. The offer still stands if you change your mind, though."

As Mila returned to ranting about her mother to Otabek, Yuri frowned and ate some of his pizza.  E lena Babicheva may  have be en a pain to deal with, but at least Mila and Otabek had mothers who loved and cared about them, which was more than he could say about his own poor excuse for a mother.

"What I really wish is that she would stop trying to push us into marriage," Mila said, reaching over to grab a breadstick and snapping it in half. "Seriously, it's  2022, not the 1800s ! Nobody cares anymore if you have a kid out-of-wedlock. Just because her parents forced her to get married when she got knocked up doesn't give her the right for her to try to do the same thing to me!"

"But, you know, you two could get married, if you wanted," Yuri said, remembering what Mila had said while arguing with her mother.

"What?"

Mila stared at him as if he had suddenly grown a second head, and even Otabek set down his fork, giving him a strange look.

"I just meant, you don't have to worry about hurting my feelings or anything," Yuri continued, regretting he had even brought up the idea at all. After all, hadn't his plan been to avoid talking about their future as a…whatever they were? He dunked one of his breadsticks into the marinara dipping sauce, swirling it around. "It's only a silly piece of paper, right? Getting married would make your families happy, and I know it would make some legal matters eas—"

"Yura, we're not getting married," Otabek said, cutting him off. "It was never even an option for us."

"But –"

"Yeah, absolutely not happening," Mila insisted. "I mean, marriage is fine if that's something you really want, I guess. I'm happy for Sara and Emil, and it's been fun helping her plan the wedding, but I was never one of those girls who dreamed of white dresses and fancy cakes. My parents' divorce kind of soured me on the whole 'until death do us part' thing."

"If you say so," Yuri said. "But if you ever do change your mind…"

"We won't, but thanks."

* * *

A few days later, Yuri l eft  Lilia’s ballet studio, having finished his daily afternoon lesson. Normally, Mila accompanied him  to Lilia’s classes, but with her pregnancy and subsequent retirement from skating, she’d decided to take a break from practicing ballet even though her doctor said it would be fine to continue as long as she didn’t strain herself too much. 

It had been strange to go to the studio without Mila by his side. Over the years, he had grown accustomed to her being there, always ready with one of her hilarious snooty Lilia impressions whenever the former prima ballerina had her back turned to them. Already their lives were beginning to change, and the baby wasn’t even due for another six months...

He sighed as he pushed open the door leading out of the building, coming to an abrupt stop when he saw Otabek waiting for him outside, straddling his motorcycle. Yuri’s leopard-print helmet was tucked underneath one arm.  They hadn’t arranged to meet up, Yuri having planned to  buy a few groceries on the way home , but he was thrilled to see him, his mood  instantly lifting. 

"Wanna go for a ride?" Otabek asked when Yuri came up to him.

He grinned. "Hell yeah, I do!" It had been  forever since they  last rode together.

"Hop on, then."

He handed Yuri  his helmet. After putting it on, Yuri settled behind  him on the bike, wrapping his arms tightly around Otabek's waist as they took off.

Yuri hadn't asked where Otabek was going and he really didn't care, enjoying the scenic drive until he noticed that Otabek had taken them to a part of the city Yuri didn't recognize, a residential area populated mostly by cookie-cutter family homes. A sinking feeling dropped in the pit of his stomach when Otabek pulled up to the curb in front of a two-story brick house, an "Open House" sign planted in the immaculately mowed front yawn. All that was missing was a white picket fence.

"Beka, what are we doing here?"

Otabek inhaled a deep breath, taking off his helmet. "Looking at a house."

"Oh." Yet another change.

"The apartment is too small to raise a family in," Otabek explained. "The baby will probably stay in our room for the first couple of months, but eventually it'll need its own bedroom."

"Yeah, that makes sense, I guess," Yuri said, removing his helmet as well and shaking out his loose hair. "Shouldn't you be looking at houses with Mila, though?"

"She's at a birthday party for one of her girlfriends today. If I like this house, we can come back another day for a private showing, but I wanted a second opinion in the meantime. You don't mind, do you?"

_Sure, because looking for the perfect house for my partner and my best friend to move into_ _with their new baby_ _was exactly how I wanted to spend my afternoon,_ Yuri thought,  resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Well,  since  I'm already here…"

"Come on. It shouldn't take long."

Reluctantly, Yuri climbed off the back of the motorcycle and followed Otabek up the  flower -lined walkway to the house.

The moment they stepped into the small foyer, Yuri decided he already hated it. "Ugh, popcorn ceilings. Whoever thought _that_ was a good idea?"

"We have popcorn ceilings in our apartments, too," Otabek pointed out. "You've never complained about them before."

Yuri stuffed his hands into his jean pockets. "Yeah, well…" He couldn't think of a good retort.

A well-dressed woman wearing too much perfume walked over to greet them, her heels clacking against the tile in the entryway. "Welcome! I'm Vera Ivanovna Radionova, the realtor selling this house. Are you two in the market to buy?"

"Yeah, we're thinking about it," Otabek said. He didn't bother to correct her assumption that they were looking for a house together. "What can you tell us about this place?"

"Well, it’s about two thousand square feet, with four bedrooms and three-and-a-half baths, and was built in 2003. It could use a little updating here and there, but it's in overall good condition. As you can see, it's already open concept, and the kitchen was just renovated three years ago. There's also an attached two-car garage." She handed Yuri a flyer and smiled. "Please feel free to have a look around. If you have any questions, let me know."

Yuri was surprised – and honestly, a little annoyed – that she didn't seem to recognize either one of them. They were the reigning Olympic gold and bronze medalists in men's figure skating, after all. The lack of recognition didn't seem to bother Otabek, though. After thanking the realtor, he pulled Yuri further into the living area.

"Hey, do you really need a house this big?" Yuri asked once they were out of earshot, glancing over the floor plan printed on the flyer. "What the hell are you gonna do with four bedrooms?" He didn't understand why Otabek and Mila couldn't just move into a larger two-bedroom unit in the same apartment building where they already lived if they needed more space for the baby. He knew for a fact that a small family on the floor below theirs was planning to move out next month.

"It would be nice to have some space for guests. My mother's already planning to  come  visit right after the baby is born to help out for a couple of weeks," Otabek said, looking around the staged living room. "It's not bad. A good size, and the open concept will make it easy to keep an eye on the baby. I like the hardwood floors, too.”  He c rouched down, running his hand over the wide planks. “Oak, maybe?  They’re r eally beautiful."

"Yeah, but that fireplace is awful, and whoever decided to paint that wall that pukey green must have been colorblind."

Otabek shrugged, standing back up. "I like the brick; it's homey. And it's not a big deal to paint a wall."

Yuri rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Let's check out this so-called 'renovated' kitchen."

Much to his annoyance, he had to admit the kitchen wasn't horrible. A bit too white for Yuri's tastes – those cabinets had to be a pain in the ass to keep clean – but it had a decent amount of storage, and the stainless steel appliances were a nice bonus. It had a good-sized island, too – the perfect spot to make pirozhkis.

"Hate the backsplash," Yuri said, mostly for the sake of having something to criticize. Truthfully, it was hard to go wrong with classic subway tiles, but they were boring and added to the overall "whiteness" of everything. A pop of color would go a long way in making the kitchen more interesting.

Otabek let out a sigh.

"What? You said you wanted a second opinion, so I'm giving you one," Yuri said, spotting a plate of chocolate chip cookies sitting on the quartz countertop. "Do you think those are just for staging, or can we eat them?" Not waiting for an answer, Yuri plucked one from the plate and took a bite. "Mmm, these are pretty good." Best part of the house so far, in his opinion.

"Just don't get crumbs everywhere," Otabek said, a faintly amused look on his face.

"Yes, _Mom_." Yuri grabbed another cookie for the road, stuffing it in the pocket of his hoodie, and headed down a hall with three doors, Otabek following after him.

The first door on the left led to a tiny powder room decorated with a garish floral-print wallpaper that even Otabek had to admit was objectively terrible. Right beside it was the laundry room – nothing special, but it did the job. Across the hall was the door to a first-floor master suite.

"What do you think?" Otabek asked as they entered the bedroom.

"It's…okay? I guess?"

As with the kitchen, he didn't really have any major objections. The room was large, easily big enough to hold a king-sized bed with space to spare, and the windows provided lots of natural light. He wasn't a huge fan of the pale yellow walls, but as Otabek had pointed out, that was an easy enough fix. Mila would no doubt want to paint them pink, anyway.

Opening one of the two doors along the wall, Yuri peeked inside the closet. "Closet's small, though," he said, happy to find one flaw. "You'd never be able to fit both yours and Mila's clothes in there."

"What about your wardrobe? Do you think there would be enough space?"

"You're joking, right? You know I have more clothes than you and Mila combi—" Yuri whipped back around, suddenly realizing what Otabek had said. "Uh, Beka?"

"Yeah?" He was taking a look through the other door. " Come check out this bathroom. Do you like it? It doesn't have a bath tub , but the shower is pretty nice." 

"Beka, are you asking me to move in with you guys?"

Otabek smiled, coming back out of the en-suite bathroom. "It took you long enough to catch on."

"What the fuck? No!"

Yuri stormed out of the bedroom, Otabek following him to the hall. "Yura…Yura, wait." He grabbed Yuri by the elbow. "Where are you going?"

"Home."

"How? I'm your ride."

Oh, right. He had forgotten that minor detail. It was way too far to walk. "I'll call an Uber or something," he mumbled with a shrug.

"Yura, what's wrong?" Otabek asked, turning Yuri around so that they were facing each other. "I don't understand. If you hate the house that much, we don't –"

"It has nothing to do with the damn house!" he yelled, catching the attention of a young family coming out of the laundry room. The mother covered her daughter's ears, shooting Yuri a dirty look.

"Sorry about that, ma'am," Otabek said, pulling Yuri in the direction of the powder room with the awful wallpaper. "We need to talk," he said in a lower voice to Yuri. "Come on, in here."

The room was barely big enough to fit the two of them, the wallpaper even worse than Yuri remembered from the first time they checked it out. Otabek locked the door behind them so that they wouldn't be interrupted, then turned around to face Yuri.

"Okay, what the hell was that all about?"

"Nothing," Yuri said, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared down at the fluorescent orange penny tile on the floor. He hadn't even noticed the tile before, too distracted by the horror on the walls. "Seriously, whoever designed this bathroom has the worst taste."

"Yura, don't change the subject. I want to know what's going on," Otabek said, placing his hands on Yuri's upper arms. "I know I kind of sprung this on you, but I thought –"

"Well, you thought wrong." He shrugged Otabek's hands away. "What were you even thinking, asking me to move in with you and Mila?"

The question seemed to take Otabek by surprise. "I… I don't know. I just thought it made sense."

"Beka, you and Mila are having a baby, starting a family."

"I'm well aware of that."

"Then it's time we stop pretending that nothing will change between us!"

"What are you saying? You want to break-up?"

"I don't _want_ to, but –" Sighing, Yuri took a seat on the toilet lid. "Are we really going to have this conversation locked in the world's tackiest bathroom?"

"Will you forget about the bathroom for five minutes?" Otabek leaned back against the door, lightly hitting the back of his head. "Yura, I still love you. That's not going to change just because Mila and I are going to have a baby."

"That's not the issue. I know that."

"Then what is it?"

"I don't know!" Elbows on his knees, Yuri dug his fingers in his hair. "I'm just not sure where I fit in anymore, I guess," he finally admitted in a softer voice.

"Oh. I see." Otabek rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, I get it. You didn't exactly sign on for all this. I shouldn't have assumed…"

Yuri rose back to his feet, moving to stand in front of Otabek.  It was time he finally came clean.

"I'm happy for you and Mila, really I am," he said, reaching for Otabek's free hand and giving it a tight squeeze. "You two are going to be the most amazing parents, but…" He swallowed. "I- I don't know if I'm ready for all this. I'm only twenty-one, and my upbringing… " Yuri let go of his grip on Otabek's hand, wrapping his arms around himself. As close as they were, the years before he moved in with his grandfather at the beginning of  first grade were largely a mystery to Otabek and Mila, Yuri preferring not to dwell on the early years of his life. "Well, it wasn't the best," was as much as he was willing to say.

"I don't understand. What does –"

"Maybe we _should_ break up," Yuri said, his heart breaking even as he said the words. "It would be better that way. Then you and Mila can get married, buy your big, fancy house in the suburbs, and have a proper family."

"A proper –? Yura, where the hell is this coming from? We already told you that we don't want to get married."

"Yeah, because of me –"

"Not just because of you." Otabek sighed. "Look, we don't need a piece of paper to prove that we're a family or whatever. You heard Mila. She's pretty sour on the whole idea of marriage anyway because of her parents' divorce. Even if you weren't in the picture, it's not something we would consider."

"But –"

"Do you know what I envision as a 'proper family'?" Otabek asked,  not giving him the chance to protest . "You, me, and Mila raising this baby together. Mila wants that, too. You don't have to be a 'father' if you don't want to. You can just be the cool uncle or something, but…" He brought his hands up to Yur i 's cheeks, cradling his face. "Yura, I don't want to lose what we have. You're too important to me."

"I-I don't want to lose you either," Yuri confessed, lowering his arms back down to his sides.

“You don’t have to. Come live with us. Be a part of our family.”

“I don’t know...” There was a reason why he had decided to get his own apartment when he left the rink dormitory instead of moving in with Mila and Otabek. He liked having a place to himself, a place that he could keep as messy and disorganized as he wanted, where he never had to worry about walking in on something he had no desire to see. And living with a screaming, crying baby on top of everything else...

Yet the thought of losing the close relationship he had with Otabek pained Yuri in a way he never thought possible.  Those who didn’t quite understand what a queerplatonic relationship was might think him silly when it seemed simple enough to go back to being best friends  like they were before , but the feelings he had for Otabek were just as strong as  Mila’s. The fact that they weren’t “lovers” in the traditional sense didn’t make their relationship any lesser than the one Otabek shared with Mila.

“It’s really okay if I don’t want to be a father?” Yuri asked. “You and Mila will do most of the parenting?”

“Yes, of course.  You can be involved as little or as much as you want. ”

“ And you two won’t, like, be all naked and gross outside the bedroom?”

Otabek chuckled. “I’ll talk to Mila about the nudity, but, yeah, we’ll be respectful of your boundaries,” he promised,  taking Yuri’s hands in his own and giving them a gentle squeeze . “So, are you gonna move in with us or not?”

Yuri cracked a smile at that, reminded of that day in Barcelona when Otabek first asked him to be his friend.  Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, living with them, helping to raise a kid...  He still had his reservations, but  it was worth a shot to try to make it work.

“ Yeah, okay. I’ll move in with you,”  Yuri decided, Otabek smiling as well.

“I’m glad,” he said, reaching up to brush the bangs out of Yuri’s eyes. “Um, is it okay if I kiss you?”

Yuri shook his head, bringing a hand to Otabek’s mouth. “I do  _not_ kiss in bathroom s , especially strangers’ bathrooms. People piss and shit in here, Beka!”

“I’m sure they gave it a good cleaning before the open house...but fair enough.  What about a hug? Do you hug in bathrooms?”

“Not usually,” Yuri said, laughing and wrapping his arms around Otabek’s waist, “but I suppose I can make an exception this one time...”

They hugged each other for a long moment until they heard a soft knock on the door. "Is there a problem in there?" a voice that sounded like Vera's asked. "I've been getting some complaints that nobody's been able to see the powder room. I really must insist that all rooms remained unlocked during the open house."

"Please, she should be thanking us instead," Yuri scoffed, Otabek biting back a chuckle as he turned back around and unlocked the door.

"Sorry about that," he apologized to the realtor when they came back out. "My partner and I had a few things to discuss in private."

"By the way, do you happen to know the name of the person who designed that bathroom?" Yuri asked. "Beka and I love their work."

"Really? _That_ bathroom?" Vera poked her head into the powder room as if to reassure herself that it hadn't magically transformed in the past fifteen minutes. "Um… I can't say for certain, but I believe the current homeowners are responsible for the, uh, design."

"Oh, really? They have a unique style, very…avant-garde."

"Well, that's one way of describing it, I suppose," she said, plastering a smile on her face. "Anyway, do you two have any other questions so far?"

"No, I think that's it for now," Otabek said, reaching for Yuri's hand. "We're going to check out the second floor."

They managed to hold back their laughter until they were out of Vera's earshot. "I can't believe you actually asked her that!" Otabek said as they climbed the outdated staircase. "You're awful."

"No, that bathroom was awful."

"It really, really was."

Upstairs, there was another master suite – larger than the one downstairs – with a big walk-in closet and master bathroom with double vanities and a soaker tub. The other two bedrooms were identical in size, connected by a Jack-and-Jill bathroom. When they finished looking around the second story, they went back downstairs and checked out the backyard, which was a bit of a novelty for Yuri, having lived in apartments all his life. It wasn't huge, but it would give the baby some space to play outside when it was older, which Otabek liked.

"So, what do you think of the house overall?" Otabek asked Yuri as they headed back to his motorcycle. "I know it needs some painting and a couple of updates, but it could work, right?"

Yuri shrugged. "I mean, other than that powder room, I guess it's not _terrible_ , but this is only the first house we've seen. I don't think it's really Mila's style, and it's kind of far from the rink. We'd have to leave at least forty minutes earlier than usual."

"Yeah, but there's not much in our price range if we want to stay in the city."

"Well, then you should up the budget."

Otabek handed Yuri his helmet. "Sure. Let's go rob a bank on our way home," he joked  in a deadpan voice ,  mounting the bike.

"Beka, I'm being serious," Yuri said, climbing on behind him and wrapping his arms around Otabek's waist. "If we're moving in together, then I want to contribute, too."

Otabek glanced back at him, eyebrow raised. "Yeah? You wouldn't mind?"

Yuri grinned. "I'm a three-time Olympic gold medalist. I have more money than I know what to do with, so let's buy our dream house!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: “Yuri!! On Ice” doesn’t belong to me.
> 
> AUTHOR’S NOTES: I hope you enjoyed this longer-than-usual chapter! The next chapter should hopefully be posted in early December.
> 
> Feel free to follow me on Tumblr! My username is kaleidodreams.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE BEFORE READING: This chapter deals with a miscarriage scare and a character death. If you want to be spoiled before reading, jump down to the end notes and I’ll summarize.

Midway into June, Otabek left for Toronto for a  week to work on choreography for his new free program with Nathalie Leroy. Mila was supposed to go with him, but she had to cancel last minute when one of her sponsors asked her to model in an ad  campaign for a new line of pregnancy athletic wear the company was putting out.

Yuri would have gone in her place if it had been at all possible to avoid spending time with JJ. Sure, over the years, he had grown to tolerate – and on very, very, _very_ rare occasions, even enjoy – socializing with the seven-time Canadian champion, but that didn't mean he wanted to be around JJ any more than absolutely necessary. It didn't help matters that ever since Mila and Otabek announced they were having a baby, JJ had become even more insufferable than usual, tagging Otabek in all his Tweets and 'grams related to Isabella's pregnancy. He'd gone so far to come up with a hashtag for him and Otabek: #IcePapas, which wasn't even that clever (and left a lot of people confused at first, thinking JJ and Isabella had joined Otabek's "harem" – an idea that was offensive on more levels than Yuri could count).

"Oh, for the love of – Have you seen this?"

Yuri held up his phone so Mila could see the photo JJ had recently posted on Instagram. It was  a picture of  him and Otabek on the ice at JJ's home rink, wearing matching red T-shirts with the words #IcePapas written in large white block letters across the front. Otabek, of course, had that weird not-smile that always showed on his face when ever he was being photographed, but JJ was grinning like a fool, his arm slung casually around Otabek's shoulders. 

At least he wasn't doing his stupid "JJ Style" shtick.

Mila giggled. "Aw, I think it's kind of cute how excited JJ is about them becoming fathers together."

She had a strange definition of "cute".

"Dammit, I can't believe some of these idiots still think he and Beka are a couple," Yuri said, scrolling through the comments as Potya rubbed up against his calves. "How many times do we have to explain things?"

"Just ignore it, Yura. They're only trolling at this point."

"But –"

"Sometimes I do wish they had an open marriage, though…" Mila said, twirling her finger around the lip of her water glass. "I always thought Bella was gorgeous. The things I –"

Yuri raised up his palm. "Stop it right there. I'm not interested in hearing about your sexual fantasies."

"Oops, sorry. It's these pregnancy hormones, I swear. I'm just so _horny_ these days, you know?"

"No, I don't, and I don't want to know."

The microwave dinged, signaling that his popcorn had stopped popping. Yuri grabbed the bag and headed back to the couch, Mila and Potya following after him. "Come on, it's about to start."

It wasn't often that he and Mila spent much time together nowadays without Otabek being present, but one of their favorite things to do when the opportunity arose was watch episodes of one of their favorite reality shows,  _Project Runway_ , and critique all the creations. It just so happened that the  network was running a marathon of the show's best episodes, making it the perfect way to spend the afternoon.

"Oh, I hope they show the Sasha Cohen episode!" Mila said as she settled on the couch beside Yuri, Potya curled up by her feet, and snatched the popcorn bag right out of his hands.

"Hey!"

"What? Baby is hungry!" she mumbled with a mouth full of popcorn.

Yuri rolled his eyes. "You can't keep playing the pregnancy card and blaming the baby for everything, you know," he said, turning the TV to the  proper channel with the remote before reaching over to grab a handful of popcorn for himself.

"But the baby  _is_ to blame for everything!”  she said after swallowing.  “I'm a horny, hungry –" She pushed the popcorn back into his hands and stood up,  Potya meowing in clear annoyance.

"Where are you going? It's starting."

"Bathroom."

"Fine." He hit pause on the remote.

While she was gone, Yuri pulled out his phone again and opened up the Instagram app. He knew Mila was right, that people were just trolling with their "JJBek" nonsense – who even came up with such idiotic names? – but that didn't stop Yuri from finding his favorite photo from the Olympics, the one where he, Otabek, and Mila were posed in front of the Olympic rings, Otabek sandwiched in between them, and reposting it with the caption: "Ours – and nobody else's!"

_At least for now,_ he mentally added as he stared at the picture. Despite the fact that he had agreed to move in with Otabek and Mila whenever they found a house and help raise their baby, a part of him feared that such an arrangement was doomed to fail, that the idea was just a temporary bandaid before  everyone realized it was all a huge mistake...

" Hey, what are you doing?" Mila asked when she came back out, leaning against the back of the couch.

Startled, Yuri pressed his phone against his chest so that she couldn't see what was on the screen. "DM-ing JJ and telling him you want to bang his wife," he lied.

"No, you're not." She sat back down on the couch, once again grabbing the bag of popcorn from his lap. "Stop feeding the trolls. It just makes them hungrier."

"But –"

"Put your phone away, and let's watch the show."

Childishly, Yuri stuck out his tongue, but he did as he was told, setting his phone aside and unpausing the TV.

They were in luck, because their favorite Sasha Cohen episode kicked off the marathon. However, a little more than halfway through the episode, Mila abruptly stood up once again. "Bathroom break!" she announced.

"Another one? Didn't you just go, like, twenty minutes ago?"

"I'm peeing for two now, remember?"

 _Blaming the baby once again…_ He rolled his eyes, waving his hand. "Okay, go, go. I'll pause it until you get back."

Yuri reached for the bag she left behind on her way to the bathroom, scowling when he looked inside and saw that it was empty except for a few unpopped kernels. He  had barely got ten to eat any of it.  _Might as well find something else to eat,_ Yuri thought with a sigh, heading to the kitchen.

He was in the middle of making a  turkey sandwich, spreading mustard on a couple of pieces of  whole grain bread, when Mila came back out. "Hey, you want a sandwich?" Yuri asked, thinking he might as well offer before she ended up stealing his sandwich, too. "It's getting close to lun—"

"Yura, something's wrong."

Yuri stopped mid-smear and set his knife down on the counter, his heart jumping in his throat. "What is it? Is it Beka…?"

His mind immediately went to worst case scenarios. A concussion? A broken leg? A heart attack? That last one seemed unlikely as Otabek was, by all appearances, in excellent health, but even though it happened before his time, everyone in the skating world knew the tragic story of the legendary pairs skater Sergei Grinkov.

Mila shook her head, bringing her hand to her  stomach . "The baby… I'm bleeding," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I-I think I need to go to the emergency room."

Oh, God…

A miscarriage? But she was already past the three month mark.  He always thought that meant the risk of that happening was over.

"Okay," Yuri said, trying his best not t o freak out. Leaving out the ingredients he had prepared for the sandwiches, he grabbed his keys and walked over to Mila, gently placing a hand on her lower back as he guided her toward the door. "Okay, I'll take you. Everything is going to be fine."

He hoped.

* * *

When Mila and Yuri arrived at the hospital’s emergency room, they signed in at the front desk, then Mila met with a triage nurse, who determined that her condition was not serious enough that she needed to see a doctor right away. They were sent out to the waiting room, Mila having to talk Yuri down from cursing out the poor nurse who was only doing her job. He settled for kicking a metal trashcan on the way out, muttering profanities under his breath.

“ Seriously, what counts as an emergency around here?” he asked just as the automatic doors s lid opened and two men walked in, one with an obvious head wound.

“That does, I guess,” Mila said as they watched another nurse bring over a wheelchair for the injured man. “Come on, Yura. She said it probably wouldn’t take too long before I could see a doctor. Let’s just take a seat and wait.”

“Fine.”

Sighing, Yuri followed Mila over to a couple of vacant chairs in the corner of the waiting room, sitting down and grabbing a two-month old issue of _Vogue_ from the table beside him, although he was too distracted to do little more than mindlessly flip through the glossy pages.

Why was he so agitated, anyway? If Mila miscarried, then everything would go back to normal, and –

“Fuck,” he swore softly, tossing the magazine aside and wrapping his hands around the bas e on his neck, his elbows on his knees as he stared down at the e poxy floor s . He was the literal worst best friend in the  entire world.

Beside him, Mila sat quietly, wringing her hands in her lap. Every once in a while he caught her biting down on her bottom lip, blinking back tears. Yuri was about to wrap his arm around her shoulders to try to comfort her when a nurse, different from the one before, walked over to them.

“Ms. Babicheva? A doctor can see you now,” the nurse said, glancing over at Yuri. “ Are you the father?"

"O-Oh, I'm just –"

"Yes, he is," Mila interrupted, reaching over to grab Yuri's hand. "He's my partner."

"Okay, right this way,"  she said, not questioning Mila's claim at all. "Follow me." She led them to an empty examination room down the hall. "Wait here and have a seat. Dr. Klimkin will come by to examine you in a few minutes."

After the nurse left, Yuri helped Mila up onto the examination table. "Sorry I told her you were the father," she said, grabbing his hand once again. "I-I just didn't want to go through this alone."

"It's okay." He squeezed her fingers. "Do you want me to call Beka?"

Yuri's free hand reached for his back pocket, only to find it empty. _Crap!_ In his rush to get Mila to the hospital, he had left his phone at home on the end table.

Mila shook her head. "No, don't. He's halfway around the world," she said, blinking back tears. "There's nothing he can do right now…"

"H-Hey." He pulled his hand out of her grasp, instead wrapping his arm around her trembling shoulders and pulling her close. "We don't know anything, yet," he reminded her. "It could be nothing."

"But what if something really is wrong?" she asked, her voice muffled in the fabric of his T-shirt. "W-What if I lose the baby? I love it so much, Yura. I really, really do. I know I wasn't sure if I wanted to keep it at first, but…"

Yuri tightened his hold on her, kissing the top of Mila's head. He didn't know what else to say, feeling guilty for his earlier thought. He wished Otabek was here with her instead of him. Otabek was the father, not him, no matter the lie Mila told the nurse.

"Ludmila Danilovna Babicheva?"

A kindly-looking middle-aged man in glasses entered the room, looking down at the tablet in his hand. Mila pulled herself away from Yuri, using her hands to wipe the tears off of her face.

"Mila," the two of them corrected the doctor in unison. Only Mila's parents got away with calling her Ludmila, and even then, only on certain occasions.

"Ah, I thought the name sounded familiar," the doctor said, smiling when he looked up. "You're Mila Babicheva, the Olympic bronze medalist, and you're Yuri Plisetsky, the gold medalist, correct? I'm Dr. Klimkin, and I happen to be a big skating fan. Good to meet you." After shaking their hands, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I thought  Otabek Altin was the father of your baby, though?"

Unsure of how to reply, Mila and Yuri exchanged looks. "Um, Beka's out of the country at the moment," she said, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, "but Yura…"

"It's fine. I'm aware of the unusual nature of your relationship. He may stay if you like."

She sighed in relief. "Thank you."

"So, Mila, I understand that you've been experiencing some vaginal bleeding. Anything else? Any pain? Cramps?" he asked, setting his tablet aside and slipping a pair of gloves over his hands.

"No, that's all. I just saw some blood when I wiped myself and got really scared."

"Well, a little spotting during pregnancy is very common and usually no cause for concern. Chances are, there's nothing for you to worry about, especially at this stage in your pregnancy, but I'll perform an ultrasound to make certain. If you will, lay back for me and pull up your shirt."

Yuri helped Mila lay back on the examination table, holding her hand as the doctor spread some sort of gel on her abdomen. Dr. Klimkin then began rolling the wand over her rounded belly, explaining that he was looking for the fetal heartbeat. Mila's grip on Yuri's hand tightened to the point that she was almost crushing his fingers, but he bit down on his bottom lip, forcing himself not to cry out in pain.

It didn't take long for the doctor to find the heartbeat, Mila letting out the sob she had been holding back when they heard the soft _thump-thump, thump-thump._

"Is the baby okay?" Yuri asked, not really sure what it all meant. A heartbeat had to be a good sign, though, right?

Not answering him, Dr. Klimkin continued staring at the ultrasound screen, his face unreadable. Yuri was about to repeat the question with the addition of a few choice expletives when the doctor smiled.

"Everything looks good, Mila," he announced. "The fetal heart rate is well within normal range, and I see nothing to indicate that your baby is in any danger."

"Really?" she asked,  swiping her hands over her tear-streaked cheeks . "The baby's going to be all right?"

With his own hand finally free of Mila's  vice-like grip, Yuri discreetly hid it behind his back to shake the feeling back to his fingers.

"Yes, the baby looks to be strong and healthy," the doctor assured her. "Do you know the sex yet? While you're here, I can go ahead and tell you if you would like to know."

"We have the anatomy scan scheduled for next week, when Beka gets back," Mila said. "I… I wouldn't feel right finding out when he's not here."

"Understandable. Would you like to still see the baby?"

She nodded, and the doctor turned the screen so that she and Yuri could see, Yuri's eyes widening as he comprehended what he was seeing in the grainy image.

"Holy sh—There's a _baby_ in there!"

Mila laughed through her tears. "Of course there is, dummy! Did you think I was just getting fat?"

"No, of course not! But…"

He'd seen the sonogram picture from her first ultrasound at eight weeks to confirm her pregnancy, but at that point, it had mostly been a small blob, only vaguely human in shape. Now it looked…well, like an actual _baby_.

"It is pretty amazing, though, isn't it?" Mila asked, completely captivated by the image.

"Y-Yeah."

Dr. Klimkin cleared his throat. "Now, as I said earlier, a little spotting is common, but if the bleeding gets any heavier or you start experiencing any pain or cramping…"

The doctor's voice faded to the background as Yuri stared at the screen at the baby – Mila and Otabek's baby.

For the first time since Mila peed on that white stick, it felt utterly and undeniably _real_. The baby was no longer some abstract concept, some theoretical "someday". Mila was already close to halfway through her pregnancy; the baby would be born in only a few months, months that seemed far too short the closer November approached.

Yuri had hoped that in that time he would grow used to the idea, that he would come to love the baby as much as Mila and Otabek already did, but… Maybe it had been a mistake to agree to Otabek's idea of raising the baby together. He felt no connection at all to the image on the screen.

"Yura? Hey, Earth to Yura!"

Someone waved a hand in front of his face.

Yuri blinked. Mila was sitting back up on the examination table, her shirt pulled back down over her belly and a concerned look on her face. "You okay?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah," he said. "Sorry. Is that it?"

"Yes, you're free to go," Dr. Klimkin said, tapping on his tablet. "Just drop by the front desk to sign some papers."

"Thank you, Dr. Klimkin, and sorry for wasting your time," Mila said as Yuri helped her down from the table.

"Nonsense. A mother wanting to be certain her baby is okay is never a waste of time."

As soon as Mila finished signing all the necessary paperwork at the front desk, Yuri immediately started heading toward the exit. "Come on, let's go," he said in a gruff voice, more than ready to leave.

"Wa—" Mila caught up to him, reaching for his arm and stopping him. "Yura, are you sure you're okay?" she asked, placing a hand on his forehead. "Are you feeling sick? Maybe you sh—"

On reflex, Yuri slapped her hand away. "Don't touch me, hag! You're not my mother."

Mila took a step back, and Yuri brought a hand to his mouth, horrified when he realized what he had  said . "Sorry, I-I didn't mean…" He sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I'm fine. I'm just… I don't know."

How could he explain when he didn't understand himself why he had reacted that way?

"Oh, okay," Mila said softly. For once, she didn't pry.

"Stay here," he said. "I'll bring the car around front."

"That's not really necessary, Yura. I'm fully capable of walking to –"

"Please, Mila." He just needed a few minutes to himself.

"Fine,"  she said after a brief pause. "I'll wait for you at that bench over there." She pointed to the bench in front of the hospital entrance.

Yuri nodded his understanding before heading out to the car.

However, it wasn't until he had walked almost to the end of the parking lot that Yuri realized he had no clue where he parked it, having been too preoccupied with Mila to take note of which row he had parked in. It had been near a tree, right? He remembered a tree. Maybe.

If he hadn't forgotten his stupid phone at home, he could call Mila and ask her if she had any idea where he had parked, but, of course, he had.

"Great. Fucking great," Yuri muttered, kicking at a rock in his path. Could the day get any worse?

After roaming around the parking lot for a couple more minutes, checking the areas around nearby trees with no luck, he gave up the search and pressed the panic button on his key fob, following the piercing sound of the alarm to his car. The Mercedes was parked three rows over, nowhere near a tree.

Yuri turned off the alarm and unlocked the doors, sliding into the driver's seat. He didn't immediately start the car, however, leaning back in the seat and pressing the heels of his hands against his eyelids. "Pull yourself together, asshole," he told himself.

Mila had  just  w eathered a huge scare . This wasn’t the time to deal with whatever stupid issues he had.  He needed to concentrate on Mila, to be the best friend he was supposed to be. Even if Otabek was on the other side of the world at the moment, she wasn’t alone.

After taking a couple of breaths, Yuri started the car and d rove up to the front entrance. Mila was sitting on the bench like she said she would be,  w alking over when she saw him pull up  a nd slid ing into the passenger-side seat.

“Sorry. Um, I got a little lost, couldn’t find the car,” he explained as she buckled her seatbelt.

“It’s fine,” she said softly.

That was the extent of their conversation, the rest of the drive back to their apartment building passing in silence. Mila headed straight toward the door to her and Otabek’s apartment when they arrived.

“ So, d o you, um, need anything?” Yuri asked, scratching the back of his neck. “I can make you lunch...  W ell, I guess it’s closer to supper, now, huh?  Or we can get takeout if you want, my treat? ”

Mila gave him a wan smile. “Thanks, but I’m okay now,” she said,  opening the door . “I’m going to call Beka and tell him what happened,  t hen I think I’ll just go to bed.  I’m tired. It’s been a long day.” 

“ Oh.  Yeah, o kay.  Good night, then. ”

“‘ Night.”

Yuri waited until she had entered her apartment and closed the door behind her, then sighed and stepped into his own apartment.

After cleaning up the mess he had left behind in the kitchen and opening a can of cat food for Potya, Yuri  cooked a quick dinner of chicken and salad, making enough for two servings. Despite what Mila had said, he sent her a text anyway, inviting her to come over and eat with him if she was hungry. 

It came as no surprise when he didn’t receive an answer.

“Why do I always have to be such a jerk?” he asked Potya, feeding the old cat  a few small pieces of chicken he tore off Mila’s share.

Potya meowed.

“Because I’m an asshole? Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Frowning, Yuri  covered Mila’s uneaten plate in aluminum foil and put it in the fridge. No point in letting it go to waste; he could reheat it and eat it for lunch tomorrow.  He then plopped down on the couch, grabbing the phone he had left behind  from off the end table . Otabek had s ent him a short text message  while he’d been cooking :  _Thanks for being there for her today._

Yuri scoffed. Yeah, he had been a great help.

He didn’t reply back, instead setting the phone down to eat his dinner.

Yuri had eaten about half of his meal when he heard a soft knock on the door. Brow furrowing, he wondered who it could be.  Most likely a neighbor, since his apartment hadn’t been buzzed. They didn’t visit often, but occasionally someone would drop by, wanting to borrow a cup of flour  or something of that nature .

He set his plate on the coffee  table and walked over to answer the door, eyes widening when he saw Mila standing in the hallway.  She was already dressed for bed, but her eyes were bloodshot, her nose rubbed red  and raw . “Um, is your dinner invitation still good?” she asked, sniffling as she swiped a hand over her cheek. “I tried to go to sleep, but i t’s so  lonely without Beka...”

“ Y-Yeah. Of course.” He stepped aside, letting her in. “I’ll warm it up for you.”

“ Thanks.”

Yuri headed to the kitchen and microwaved the piece of chicken he had saved while Mila took a seat on the couch,  cuddling with Potya. He brought the plate to her when the microwaved dinged and sat down beside her with his own half-eaten dinner. Neither of them said much while they ate, Mila mostly just picking at her food with her fork.

“Do you not like it?” he asked when he finished his share, breaking the silence between them. “I can fix you something else if –”

Mila shook her head. “No, it’s delicious. Sorry, I’m just...not very hungry, I guess.”

“ No problem .” Yuri stood back up, taking their plates back to the kitchen and putting the leftovers away in the fridge. “ So, uh, about earlier, I really am sor– ”

“ It’s fine, really,” Mila said, interrupting. “Let’s just forget about it, okay?”

Yura was certainly in favor of that, wishing he could wipe the whole rotten day from his memory. Coming back to the couch, he grabbed the remote and turned on the TV.  Potya jumped up on his lap.

“So... _P_ _roject Runway_?” The marathon was probably over, but he had a few favorite episodes saved on his DVR.

Mila smiled, wrapping her arms around Yuri and snuggling up against him. “ _Project Runway_.”

* * *

"Yura, tell Beka that he's not dropping out of the Grand Prix."

A couple of weeks after her miscarriage scare, Mila burst through the door, Otabek right on her heels. Yuri, who had been playing a game on his Nintendo Switch, swore as he lost the race for the fifth time in a row, then looked up from the screen, eyes wide when he realized what Mila had said.

"What? You're quitting the Grand Prix?"

Neither of them seemed to hear him, continuing to argue as if Yuri wasn't even there. "It's my decision, Mila," Otabek said. "Don't bring Yura into this."

"It's not just _your_ decision anymore. You didn't even think to ask me how I felt about it."

"Because I thought you would be happy."

"Well, I'm not. You got the two assignments you want–"

"Wait, they've posted the assignments?" Yuri interrupted, setting his controller aside to reach for his phone on the coffee table. Usually on the day the Grand Prix assignments were rumored to be announced, he was glued to his cell, constantly refreshing the ISU website for news, but Yuri was feeling remarkably relaxed about the upcoming season.

"You got Skate America and NHK Trophy," Mila said, saving him the trouble of looking it up. "Beka got Rostelecom Cup and Internationaux de France."

The one bad thing about sharing the World podium with Otabek was that there was an unofficial rule that the reigning medalists weren't allowed to compete against each other on the Grand Prix circuit until the Final, provided they qualified. He and Otabek hadn't competed in the same Grand Prix qualifying event since the 2018-2019 season, when they both were  invited to Cup of China.

"You're not injured, are you?" Yuri asked Otabek, frowning. He hadn't noticed anything off during practice earlier. In fact, Otabek had skated great, only stumbling out of a quad lutz attempt  during the run-through of the new free program Nathalie Leroy had choreographed for him. "Why are you dropping out of the Grand Prix?"

"Because he's a stupid, stubborn ass," Mila said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"No." Otabek plopped down on the couch beside Yuri. "It's because I don't want to risk missing the birth of our daughter."

"But I'm not even due until mid-November. Both of your events are in October."

"You know due dates are just an estimate. The baby could come early."

"She could also come late, by that logic."

"Exactly. We don't know, so it's better to be safe than sorry."

"But –"

"Is there a reason why you two can't fight about this at your own apartment and let me play my game in peace?" Yuri asked, interrupting once again.

Over the years, he had learned it best not to take sides whenever Otabek and Mila argued. All it did was make Mila angry with both of them since he almost always sided with Otabek – although, for once, he was Team Mila. Yuri had yet to decide if he was going to continue competing for another full quad, but Otabek was committed to trying for a third Olympics and winning the gold. As the new and reigning World Champion, the upcoming Grand Prix was a great opportunity to solidify his reputation as the one to beat for the next four years. Of course he knew Otabek didn't want to miss his daughter's birth, but like Mila said, she wasn't due until November, and both of his events were close to home. It was silly to withdraw so early when it was impossible to know what would happen.

"Fine, whatever," Mila said, throwing up her arms. "He's not listening to me anyway. If he decides he wants to apologize, I'll be in our room, FaceTiming with Sara about wedding colors."

With that, she stormed out of Yuri's apartment, the door slamming shut behind her.

"Wow, she is PISSED," Yuri said. "Shouldn't you, like, go after her, or something?"

"She'll get over it once she bitches about me to Sara," Otabek said, grabbing Yuri's Joy-Con from the coffee table and pulling it apart to create two separate controllers, one of which he handed back to Yuri. "Here, put it on two-player mode."

"Okay…"

Yuri turned back around on the couch, going to the main menu and changing the settings to support two players. After he selected his usual Bowser and Otabek chose Toad, they began racing, Otabek's face settling into a determined look that Yuri usually only saw on the ice. When did he take video games so seriously?

Well, whatever. Yuri welcomed the competition. He'd been getting bored of playing against the computer anyway.

Yuri won the first two races as Otabek reacquainted himself with the controls, but the next three Otabek took handily, kicking Yuri's ass in spectacular fashion. Letting out a string of profanities after the third loss, Yuri's eyes narrowed, determined to tie up the score, yet shortly after the start of the next race, the fight went out of Otabek. He sighed, dropping the controller on his lap and leaning back against the couch cushions as he stared up at the ceiling.

Frowning, Yuri exited out of the race and turned his attention to Otabek. "Are you really gonna drop out of the Grand Prix?"

Otabek shrugged. "I don't know. Probably."

"But you'll miss out on the prize money and a chance at the Final. You have a great shot at winning the gold this year, Beka!" Not that Yuri intended to let him win that easily, but if Otabek kept skating the way he did at Worlds... Well, he was definitely going to be an even bigger threat than he was before. "Plus, it's always good to get your programs out early to see what the judges think about them."

"You sound like Mila. I can always go to a couple of late Senior Bs instead. It's not a big deal."

"But –"

"Yura, I've given this a lot of thought," Otabek said, cutting him off. "If something happened, and I wasn't here again…" He shook his head, shielding his eyes with his hand. "I never should have gone to Toronto," he muttered, so low that Yuri had to strain to make out what he said.

 _Oh._ So, that was what this was all about.

"Hey, you know, shit happens sometimes, Beka," Yuri said,  rubbing Otabek’s shoulder . "You can't predict it. Nobody blames you for not being here."

"I know that… But I still think it's best to sit out the Grand Prix, just in case."

"So, what? You're just gonna give up on going to international competitions for the rest of your life on the off-chance that something might happen to Mila or the baby?"

"I didn't say that. I'll come back for the second half of the –"

"Will you?" Yuri asked. "If something comes up again like last time and they aren't able to come with you to, say, Four Continents, will you really be able to leave them behind and concentrate on your skating?"

"I… I don't know," Otabek admitted, pushing back his hair. "God, the baby isn't even born yet, and I'm already a nervous wreck. When Mila called and told me what had happened, I… I don't think I've ever felt so helpless. I mean, I'm glad you were there for her, that she didn't have to go through that all on her own, but…"

Yuri glanced away. Mila apparently hadn't told Otabek the whole story about what happen that day, about the way he had acted toward her afterwards. He still didn't understand what had come over him.

"Look, nobody's saying that you have to compete in the Grand Prix if you're really worried about something happening with the baby, Beka," he said, getting back to the original subject. "I just think it's too soon to make that decision. The assignments were only announced, what, an hour ago? And the first competition isn't until mid-October, months away! If it looks like Mila may go into premature labor, you can always withdraw, but until then, isn't it better to keep your options open?"

"Maybe you're right," Otabek admitted.

"Of course I'm right. And even if something does happen while you're gone, Moscow is only a thirty-minute flight away. It'll take a little longer from France, but it's not like you're going to be halfway across the world this time."

"Okay, okay. I get your point!" Otabek sighed. "When did you become the level-headed one between us?" he asked, earning him a playful punch on the arm.

"Hey, I can be level-headed…on occasion," Yuri said, reaching again for his controller. "Now, come on, let's get back to racing so I can kick your ass."

"Actually, I should probably go apologize to Mila first." Otabek set his controller on the coffee table and stood up, walking over to the door. "She was right. I should have talked to her instead of blindsiding her with my decision right aft— Milasha!"

As it turned out, Mila had the same idea. When Otabek opened the door, she was standing right outside the apartment, her eyes widening in surprise.

"I'm so—"

"Sorry, I —"

Mila burst into giggles and Otabek grinned, the tension between them from earlier melting away. Even Yuri hid a smile, glad to see them getting along again.

"I'm sorry," Mila began again once her laughter subsided. "It's your career, your decision. I still think you're jumping the gun, but if you really think it's best to withdraw –"

"No, I've decided to hold off for now," Otabek said. "Yura made me realize I've just been scared.” He brought a hand to her stomach. “After what happened...”

“Oh, Beka...”

Deciding to give them some privacy , Yuri stood and headed to the kitchen to grab a bottled water from the refrigerator. He was about to twist off the cap when his cell started ringing in his back pocket. He pulled out the phone, frowning when he glanced at the display. It was an unfamiliar number with a Moscow area code. Probably Grandpa's landlord, calling to gripe because Yuri had forgotten to mail off his rent check until it was already a couple of days overdue. Seriously, who  required payment with checks nowadays, anyway? He paid all his other bills online – fast and convenient, just the way he liked it.

With a roll of his eyes, he answered the call, bracing the phone between his ear and shoulder as he opened his bottled water. "Hello?"

"Yes, hello. Is this Yuri Nikolayevich Plisetsky, grandson of Nikolai Grigoryevich Plisetsky?"

"Yeah, I'm him," he said, pausing for a second to take a sip. "Look, if this is about Grandpa's rent, I know I sent the check off a couple of days late this month, but –"

"No, I'm not your grandfather's landlord. I'm Dr. Alexei Konstantinovich Mozalev from University Central Hospital."

"Hospital?" Yuri's posture straightened, his grip tightening around the cell. A knot started forming in the pit of his stomach, knowing that getting an unexpected call from the hospital was never good news. "Did something happen to Grandpa?"

"Are you alone, Yuri Nikolayevich?" the doctor asked, ignoring Yuri's question.

"No." He glanced over at Mila and Otabek. The two of them were hugging and exchanging kisses, having apparently made up. Not wanting to watch, Yuri set his bottle down on the island counter and turned to face the window over the sink. "No, I'm, um, with friends," he said, wondering what business it was of the doctor’s if he was alone or not. He pushed a strand of hair that had fallen over his face behind his ear. "What is this about? Is Grandpa okay?"

The knot tightened even more at the long pause that followed on the other end of the line. In reality, it probably only lasted a couple of seconds at most, but for Yuri, it seemed to stretch on forever, his heartbeat quickening as realization hit even before the doctor delivered the news.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," the doctor finally said, confirming his worst fears. "Nikolai Grigoryevich died a short time ago. There was nothing we could do to save him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER SUMMARY: While Otabek is in Canada, getting his new free program choreographed from JJ’s mother, Mila has a miscarriage scare. Yuri takes her to the emergency room. It turns out to be nothing major, just a little spotting, but Mila is really shaken up and Yuri doesn’t handle it the best. They make up, though.
> 
> A couple of weeks later, Mila and Otabek argue over his sudden decision to skip the Grand Prix. Otabek is afraid that if he goes to an international competition near Mila’s due date, something might happen again, just like when she had her miscarriage scare while he was in Toronto. Yuri manages to convince him that it’s too early for him to make any definite decisions, and Otabek and Mila apologize to each other. While they are making up, Yuri receives a phone call from a hospital in Moscow. The doctor informs him that his grandfather has died.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: “Yuri!! On Ice” doesn’t belong to me.
> 
> AUTHOR’S NOTES: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! The next chapter should hopefully be posted in early February.
> 
> Feel free to follow me on Tumblr! My username is kaleidodreams.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE BEFORE READING: This chapter features mild violence (of the slapping variety) and touches on the topic of past child abuse, although it’s mainly just strongly implied at the moment. The abuse will be explored more deeply in a future chapter, but I thought I should give a heads up anyway.

Grandpa had fallen down a flight of stairs. A freak accident.

No one actually saw what happened. The best guess was that he'd been lugging a couple of heavy grocery bags up to his third floor apartment when he lost his balance, hitting his head several times on the way down and breaking his right leg and neck. A neighbor who heard the commotion called for the ambulance, but by the time they'd arrived at the hospital, it had been too late to do anything for him. He was declared dead on arrival.

Yuri went numb the moment he ended the call, his arm falling uselessly to his side as his cell clattered against the tiled floor. Otabek, hearing the noise, walked over and picked it up for him, asking Yuri who was on the phone, but all he could do was move his mouth,  his voice muted . To say the words aloud, to declare his grandpa was dead, would make it all too real.

Mila was the one who finally pried it out of him, guessing a couple of different scenarios until he nodded in confirmation. She threw her arms around Yuri, hugging him tight. "Oh, I'm so, so sorry, Yura…"

After embracing him and giving his own condolences, Otabek offered to take care of their travel arrangements, booking tickets on the next available flight to Moscow and arranging for a car to meet them at the airport. Yuri didn't remember accepting, but he must have, since Otabek headed back to his apartment next door. Mila stayed behind and began packing Yuri's suitcase for him.

Yuri did…nothing. He collapsed on the couch, barely even noticing when Potya crawled on his lap and began butting his head against  his chin.

It was his fault. He should have tried harder to get Grandpa to move to a new apartment when he offered to pay for  one  after signing his first major sponsorship deal a few years ago. That old building  had been no place for an elderly man with a bad back to live,  but  Grandpa had absolutely refused to move, not wanting to leave the place he had called home for over forty years.

If only he had been more insistent…

"Yura." Mila came out of his bedroom, moving to stand right in front of him. "Yura, which one of these suits do you want to take?" she asked.

Yuri forced himself to look up. Mila  was holding  up his two best black suits. "I…uh… I don't care," he said. It was the most he had spoken since he got off the phone. "Pick whichever you think I should wear."

"Oh, okay." She looked over the two choices. "I think this one is more appropriate for the occasion." She indicated the one in her left hand, the custom Armani he had splurged on after the Olympics. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah."

Mila started to head back to his bedroom when Yuri abruptly stood up, knocking Potya off his lap. "Wait, give me those," he said, taking the suits from a surprised Mila's hands. "I can take care of my own packing."

"Are you sure?"

Yuri nodded. He needed to snap out of it. There would be time to grieve later. Right now it was more important to focus on making all the necessary arrangements for the funeral. After all, it wasn't as if he could leave it up to his mother.

_His mother._

Shit, it would be up to him to break the news to her, wouldn't it? H is stomach churned , dreading the thought of seeing her for the first time in years, but he would just have to suck it up and set his feelings aside for Grandpa's sake.

"Is there anything else I can do?" Mila asked. "Anybody I can call?"

_Like my mother?_ he thought ruefully, wishing he could leave it up to somebody else.

"Um, could you maybe call Gosha?" Yuri asked instead. "Ask him to check on Potya and pick up the mail while we're gone?" Potya wasn't the biggest fan of Georgi, but their former rinkmate was the only person he could think of who lived nearby who might be available to ask last minute. Yakov and Lilia were going to be busy over the next week with Yakov's annual summer training camp, so he didn't want to bother them. "You should probably call Yakov, too, let him know that we won't be able to help out with the camp," he added.

"Yeah, sure. Of course."

After giving Yuri another hug, Mila went back to her own apartment to make the calls.

Yuri carried his suit s  back to the bedroom, hanging  them from the hook on the back of his door before looking through the open suitcase on the bed to  take inventory of what Mila had already packed. A couple of nice dress shirts, some nightclothes… He still needed socks and underwear, maybe some sweats? Grandpa's apartment would have to be packed up before they left, so bringing along some comfortable clothes was probably a good idea.

Yuri walked over to his dresser, his eyes falling on the framed photograph sitting on top, one of the few pictures he had on display in his apartment. It had been taken when Yuri was still a novice, at the competition where he won his very first gold medal. Back then, he had yet to be discovered by Yakov, coached instead by a young woman, Maya, who once made it to Junior Nationals but never advanced any further. Grandpa had had very little money to pay for a proper costume, so he had made one for Yuri himself, taking an old tiger-striped T-shirt of Yuri's and sewing hundreds of black sequins on top of the stripes for his "Eye of the Tiger" program.

Tears started to well up in his eyes as Yuri stared at the image of Grandpa standing beside him, looking much younger and healthier than he had in more recent years. He still remembered the pride on his grand father 's face when he ran up to him after the medal ceremony and showed him the shiny gold medal hanging around his neck. When he had confidently declared it was only the first of many gold medals he was going to win, Grandpa hadn't laughed at all, ruffling his awful bowl-cut hairstyle and saying he looked forward to watching Yuri win  _all_ the gold medals…

"No, pull yourself together," he muttered to himself, swiping a hand over his cheek before slamming the picture face-down and yanking open the top drawer to grab some socks and underwear at random.

He needed to keep busy.

Continuing to make a mental list of the things he needed to do, Yuri gathered the necessary items from around the room and tossed them on the bed. He was in the middle of rolling up a T-shirt when he heard a soft knock on the door.

"Yura?" The door creaked open, Otabek's head popping inside. "I got us seats on the  6 :00 flight to Moscow," he said. "A car will pick us up when we get there and take us to your grandfather's apartment."

Yuri nodded in acknowledgement, cramming the T-shirt inside the over-stuffed suitcase. Years of traveling around the world for competitions had taught him all the tricks to packing as much junk as possible inside only a couple of pieces of luggage. He had probably packed too much, but he wasn't sure how long they would stay. "Thanks."

"Mila also got a hold of Gosha. He sends his condolences and says he'll take care of things while we're gone, so you don't have to worry about Potya."

"Good."

A long pause followed. Yuri sensed Otabek's eyes staring at him from behind, but he pointedly ignored it, continuing to pack his things as if he wasn't there. He didn't want Otabek's sympathy, not right now. Not when he was barely keeping his head above water.

Still, he heard the sound of footsteps as Otabek ventured further into the room, his hands gently resting on Yuri's upper arms as he came up behind him.

"Yura… I…"

"It's like I said before, shit happens." Yuri swallowed, his eyes burning from the tears that threatened to fall. "He was an old man. I always knew he wasn't going to be around forever."

"But –"

"I'm fine, Beka," he lied, sniffling. "You should start packing your things, too. We'll need to leave for the airport  in a couple of hours if we want to make the flight."

"Okay." Otabek's voice was barely above a whisper. "I love you, Yura," he said, kissing the back of Yuri's head.

Yuri simply nodded, resuming his packing as Otabek left the room.

* * *

Yuri was glad Otabek had booked them plane tickets instead of suggesting they drive to Moscow or take the train. He didn't think he would have been able to survive a long trip at the moment with his sanity intact. As it was, he spent the short flight from St. Petersburg to his hometown playing games on his Switch to distract himself, ignoring the concerned looks Otabek and Mila kept giving him from their seats across the aisle.

The car Otabek had hired to pick them up at the airport when they landed drove them straight to his grandfather's apartment building.

When they arrived, Yuri immediately grabbed his luggage from the trunk and headed inside without waiting for Otabek and Mila, only to pause when he encountered the staircase leading up to the upper floors.

His grip tightening around the handle of his suitcase, Yuri swallow ed hard as he stared upwards. He had climbed up those same stairs hundreds – maybe even thousands – of times over the course of his life, never suspecting they would one day play such a tragic role in Grandpa's death. With his free hand, Yuri reached for the  wooden railing but found himself unable to take the first step, his feet glued to the linoleum floor. Images of Grandpa tumbling down the stairs flashed  in his mind like some sort of psychic vision,  so vivid that he had to  close his eyes and remind himself they weren’t real.

"Hey, Yura, you okay?"

He jumped upon feeling Mila's hand upon his back. "Y-Yeah, I'm fine," Yuri lied. "Just waiting for you slowpokes. Come on."

Using every bit of strength he had, he forced his legs to move, Otabek and Mila following behind him as he trudged up the staircase one step at a time up to the third floor.

When they finally reached the door to Grandpa's apartment, Yuri lifted his fist on instinct to knock before remembering there was nobody there to answer. He brought his hand back down and fumbled around for the keys in his pocket, the keychain falling to the floor when he tried to pull it out.

Wordlessly, Otabek bent down to retrieve them, handing the keys back to Yuri, who somehow managed to unlock the door without further incident.

The apartment… It looked the same as it always did.

Yuri didn't know why that surprised him. Of course it would look the same, but… Setting his suitcase down on the floor by the couch, he looked around the living area in a daze, wondering if maybe there had been some sort of a clerical error. Maybe the doctor who had called him earlier had gotten Grandpa mixed up with some other Nikolai Grigoryevich Plisetsky, one who also happened to have a grandson named Yuri Nikolayevich. They were common enough names.

After all, Grandpa couldn't really be dead, not when there were still breakfast dishes in the sink, soaking in dirty water to be washed and put away later. Not when the Sunday newspaper was scattered over the kitchen table, some of the pages cut up from where he had clipped coupons for groceries. Not when there was a stack of unopened mail on the coffee table, Otabek's handsome, unsmiling face gracing the cover of the latest issue of _International Figure Skating_ magazine, and a half-drunk cup of tea on one of the end tables, sitting next to a lamp that he had forgotten to turn off when he left.

Surely, Grandpa had only stepped out to run to the store to buy some last minute items he had forgotten to purchase earlier and would return in a matter of minutes, apologizing profusely for not being there to welcome them when they arrived…

"Yura… Yura?"

Becoming aware of Otabek's voice calling his name, Yuri clenched his hands into fists at his side and pushed the forbidden thoughts out of his mind. Grandpa was dead. No amount of living in denial would change that fact, and he needed to accept that, no matter how difficult it was to believe.

"What?" he asked, turning around to look at Otabek and Mila, who were still standing at the door.

Otabek held up the suitcase in his hand. "I was asking if it was okay if Mila and I took your grandfather's  room . If you would rather we didn't, we don't mind, but –"

"Don't be stupid. A pregnant woman can't sleep on a fold-out couch." On the occasions when they had visited Moscow with Yuri in the past, the two of them usually either slept in the living room on the ancient sofa bed or stayed in a nearby hotel, the three of them refusing to let Grandpa give up his own bed for them on account of his bad back. "It's not like he's here to use it. Take it."

Otabek and Mila exchanged a look before he took her suitcase as well and headed down the hallway to Grandpa's bedroom.

While he was gone, Mila took it upon herself to start clearing off the kitchen table, tossing what was left of the newspaper into the recycling bin. "Is there anything you need us to do?" she asked. "I can cook us some dinner if you want, or we can help you cle—"

"We need to cover the mirrors." Yuri wasn't typically one to believe in silly superstitions – that was more Mila's kind of thing – but his grandfather had always been a big believer in following the old customs and traditions. "Stop all the clocks, too."

"O-Oh, okay. Do you have some black cloth?"

Yuri checked the linen closet in the hallway, Mila following after him. Unless Grandpa had thrown it away sometime over the past few years, he was pretty sure he had a black sheet set they could use… "Here." He shoved the flat sheet into Mila's hands while grabbing the two pillowcases for himself. "You and Beka can cover the one in his room. Take the batteries out of the alarm clock, too. I'll deal with the mirrors in the bathroom and my room."

It didn't take long for Yuri to cover up the mirror on the medicine cabinet and the small round mirror on top of his dresser. Afterwards, he went around the apartment, taking the batteries out of all the clocks as well.

By the time he finished, he found the other two in the kitchen, Otabek handwashing the breakfast dishes while Mila prepared a quick dinner. The half-drunk cup of tea had been taken away, the coffee table cleared of the mail and magazines.

Sighing, Yuri took a seat on the couch, pulling out his phone. He should probably start calling people –  make  the funeral arrangements and inform Grandpa’s friends about what happene d – but he couldn’t find the energy to do  so , staring blankly down at his lockscreen.

_It_ _can_ _wait until tomorrow,_ he decided, using the excuse that it was already late, after seven o’clock. Instead, he unlocked the phone and started mindlessly scrolling through his Instagram feed.

Respecting his privacy, neither Otabek nor Mila had posted anything about his grandfather’s death, for which Yuri was grateful. It should probably be up to him to make the announcement, anyway. He searched through his gallery and pulled up the last photo of Grandpa and him together, taken on New Year’s, yet as when Mila announced her pregnancy, the words would not come to him, Yuri typing a sentence or two before backspacing, hating everything he wrote.

In the end, he settled for using a grayscale filter on the photograph, posting it  along with the caption:  _Rest In Peace, Grandpa_ , along with his birth and death dates. It wasn’t anywhere near a proper tribute to the man who had meant so much to him, but it was the best Yuri could do at the moment. He turned off notifications, then powered down his phone  as well .  Though it  was  well after midnight in Hasetsu, there was always the chance that Viktor or Yuuri were up, taking care of Nikita,  and he wasn’t in the mood to talk to either of them right now.

“I’m gonna go to bed,” he announced, placing his phone facedown on the coffee table and standing back up.

“Already?” Mila asked.  The pan sizzled as she turned over a piece of chicken. “Dinner s hould  be ready in about another five minutes.”

“I’m not  really hungry.”

“ But you haven’t eaten anything since break–” 

“I said, I’m not hungry,” Yuri  said in a rougher voice, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I’m tired, okay? Just leave me alone for awhile.”

Mila looked ready to protest, but Otabek reached for her arm and shook his head. “Okay, good night, Yura,” he said, Mila echoing  him a few seconds later.

“ Yeah, ‘n ight,” Yuri mumbled.

He headed to his childhood bedroom and crashed face first onto the small twin bed, not even bothering to change out of his clothes o r brush his teeth . Crawling underneath the covers, he closed his eyes and hoped that when he woke up the next morning, he would discover it was all a bad dream.

* * *

“Dammit, dammit, dammit!”

Yuri unraveled the knot in his tie for the fifth time, growling in frustration. His fingers refused to cooperate, every attempt to knot it resulting in him looking like a drunkard who had gotten dressed in the dark – which wasn’t far from the truth when his mirror was still covered in a black pillowcase, preventing him from accurately seeing what he was doing.

He was in the middle of his sixth attempt when he heard a soft knock on his bedroom door. “Yura, are you ready?” Otabek asked. “We need to leave soon if we want to get to the church on time.”

Was he ready to say his final good-byes to his grandfather, the man who had raised him on his own, who had sacrificed so much so that Yuri’s dreams could come true?

No. One hundred percent not at all.

“In a sec,” Yuri called out instead. “I just need to finish knot– DAMMIT!”

Otabek entered the room, walking over to the bed where Yuri was sitting, undoing his tie knot once again. “Here, stand up,” he said, holding out his hand for the tie.

Yuri did what he was told and handed the tie over, Otabek raising an eyebrow at the tiger-print but otherwise not commenting on it as he upturned the collar of Yuri’s dress shirt and placed the tie around his neck.

Perhaps tiger-print  _was_ a bit flashy for a funeral, but Yuri didn’t care. The tie had been the last present h is grandfather had given him, sent to him for his twenty-first birthday. Besides, Grandpa wouldn’t care what he wore to his funeral. He had always encouraged Yuri to express himself in his fashion, even if he seemed a bit baffled by Yuri’s love of guyliner.

“How are you holding up?” Otabek asked  as he began expertly tying the tie in a classic Windsor knot. 

“Fine. Just dandy.” Otabek again raised an eyebrow, and Yuri sighed, looking away. “Okay, I guess,” he said. “Ready for this day to be over already.”

“I still can’t believe he’s gone.” Finishing the knot, Otabek pulled it upwards and smoothed down Yuri’s collar. “He was a good man.”

“Yeah...”

“Did you ever manage to get ahold of your mother?”

It had been tough  finding his mother’s current contact information to inform her of the news. The phone number he found in Grandpa's old address book was no good, her address out-of-date. He tried sending an e-mail, but it had bounced back,  recipient unknown. In the end, Yuri had to resort to searching for her on social media, though she wasn't active on most of the popular platforms – at least, not under her birth name. (Maybe she had gotten married?  Yuri found that hard to believe, though. She wasn’t exactly the marrying type. ) Even the Facebook account he found for Aleksandra Nikolaevna Plisetskaya seemed to be long abandoned, although he sent the message anyway, for his grand father 's sake. Yuri had no desire to see her, but he knew Grandpa would want his daughter at his funeral.

Yuri shrugged.  “ I sent her a message. Don’t know if she got it or not, though. She hasn’t sent back a reply.”

“ Well, you tried your best.”

There was another knock on the door, Mila poking her head inside.  As was custom in the church, she had covered her bright red hair with a lace scarf. “The car’s waiting d ownstairs ,” she announced. “We should probably get going.”

“ Yeah, okay.”

Yuri grabbed his suit jacket from the closet,  slipping his arms through the sleeves.  He then followed Mila and Otabek out of the apartment and downstairs to the car, accepting the hand Otabek offered to him as they were driven to the church  a few blocks away. He didn’t let go until they entered the nave of the church.

Yuri couldn’t even remember the last time he stepped foot inside his grandfather’s church. It m ust have been before he moved to St. Petersburg to train with Yakov, so  he h ad probably been around nine or ten?  It hadn’t changed much since then, still ostentatiously beautiful, with paintings and icons of the saints covering almost every inch of the walls  and a large chandelier hanging down from the domed ceiling . There were no pews, so they made their wa y to the front of the nave near the iconostasis, occasionally stopping to exchange greetings and condolences w ith mourners Yuri only vaguely recognized from his childhood memories.

One person, however, was conspicuously missing .  Yuri looked around the room, but there was no sign of h is mother among the gathered mourners . Maybe she hadn’t read the Facebook message he sent? Yuri couldn’t find it in himself to be  too disappointed by her absence. Like Otabek had said earlier, he had done his best to  locate her and tell her what happened. That was all anyone could ask of him. If there was such a thing as an afterlife, Grandpa would surely understand.

Otabek placed a hand on the small of his back. “Hey, you okay?” he asked in a low voice, noticing Yuri’s distraction.

“Y- Y eah, I’m fine.”

At least he was until  about a few minutes before the service, when a blonde woman in her late-thirties arrived, accompanied by a scruffy-looking guy in a wrinkled, ill-fitting suit. She caught Yuri’s eyes only for a second before glancing away, latching onto the man’s arm as they came to stand on the opposite side of the nave.

It was only the fact that he was in a holy place of worship that Yuri held back from voicing the litany of profanites running through his mind.

“Is that her?” Otabek asked.

Yuri clenched his hands into fists at his side.  “Yeah.”

“Your mother?” Mila craned her neck to get a better look at the recent arrivals. “Wow, she’s really beautiful. You look just like her, Yura.”

That didn’t make him happy at all. “Maybe on the outside,” he scoffed.

“Oh...sorry.”

“Whatever.”

Y uri turned his attention to the icon of the Theotokos, the Virgin Mary, beside the Holy Doors and tried his best to ignore the fact he was in the same room with his mother for the first time in almost a decade. It was a day to honor the memory of his grandfather,  not to dredge up painful childhood memories of the woman who had abandoned him. He could suck it up and deal with being in her presence for a few hours.

He had to. For Grandpa’s sake.

* * *

After the burial, Yuri hosted a small reception at Grandpa's apartment. He and his mother had yet to  speak ,  ignoring each other at the church and the cemetery, which was perfectly fine by him.  H e knew they were going to have to talk at  _some_ point,  if only to exchange fake pleasantries, but until that time, he worked his way around the room, forcing himself to make small talk and accept condolences from the other mourners.

When he had spoken to every other person present and refreshed the tray of  cookies one of the neighbors had been thoughtful enough to bring, Yuri realized he couldn't put if off any longer. He waited until she was alone, inhaling when he saw the shady guy she with leave her side to check out the refreshment table. "I'm going to go talk to her," he announced to Otabek and Mila in a low voice.

Otabek reached for his arm. "Do you want me to go with you?"

Yuri shook his head. This was something he needed to do on his own. "No, I'll be fine." One short conversation, and then they could go back to pretending the other didn't exist, as they had for the majority of the past fourteen years.

Otabek didn't seem quite convinced, but he let go of his grip on Yuri's arm.

Yuri steeled himself and approached his mother by the fireplace. She was sneaking a swig from a small flask she had hidden in the pocket of her black blazer, coughing on the drink when he came to a stop in front of her.

"Mother."

The last time they had spoken in person, when Grandpa had been admitted to the hospital with a bad case of pneumonia the summer before he began competing as a junior skater, Yuri had been roughly the same height as his mother. Now, even though he wasn't a particularly tall man by society's standards, he towered over her petite frame.

"Yura." She brought the flask down to her side, craning her neck to look up at him. "You've grown."

"Yeah, that tends to happen in one's teenage years."

An awkward silence fell  between  them, neither knowing what else to say to each other. Yuri cursed the tiny part of him that wanted her to hug and comfort him like a normal mother would, but he had long ago realized what a futile wish it was to hope that she would ever give a damn about anything other than sex and alcohol.

"It was a nice ceremony," his mother said, finally breaking the stalemate. She took another  sip from her flask. "Coulda used more booze, though."

"Seriously?" Yuri snatched the flask from her hands, sniffing the contents. Whiskey, by the smell of it. "For the love of – It's not even noon."

Although he was beginning to wish he _did_ have some alcohol on hand…

She rolled her eyes, yanking the flask out of his hand before twisting the cap back on and putting it in her pocket. "God, you sound just like him."

"Who?"

"…Papa."

For a brief moment, Yuri felt a flicker of sympathy toward her, an unfamiliar look of sadness – or was it regret? – crossing her face. It disappeared as soon as her date came up to her, whispering something in her ear that made her giggle. She squealed as he grabbed her ass, slapping it before leaving again without even bothering to introduce himself to Yuri.

Prince Charming, he was not.

"Well, I see you still have the same shitty taste in men."

His mother arched an eyebrow. "And I see you still have the same filthy mouth."

That was rich, coming from her. "I learned by example."

"Maybe so. It doesn't look like your taste in men is much better than mine." She nodded in the direction of Otabek, who was chatting with Mila and one of Grandpa's friends from the factory only a few feet away. Well, more like Mila and the old man were talking. Otabek didn't seem to be paying much attention to the conversation, staring over at Yuri instead. "Where did you find _him_? He looks like a low-life thug."

Yuri clenched his fists at his side. "Beka's not a thug. He's the Hero of Kazakhstan, the current World Champion."

" _He's_ a skater? Sure doesn't look like one."

"He's also not my boyfriend, not that it's any of your damn business."

"O-Oh." She seemed surprised. Over the past couple of years, as Yuri had grown more comfortable with who he was, he'd been open in the press about his asexuality and his unconventional relationship with Otabek and Mila. If his mother didn't recognize them, then that meant she hadn't followed his career at all. "Then the girl…" Her eyes dropped to Mila's stomach, her small bump visible underneath her black sheath dress. "She's pregnant."

"Congratulations. You have eyes."

"Yours?"

"That's not any of your business either."

She scoffed. "Not my business? I'm your mother. Don't you think I deserve to know if I'm going to be a grandmother?"

Yuri stepped closer toward her, lowering his voice so that the other guests wouldn't overhear. "You forfeited that right when you decided to give me away to Grandpa just so you could keep fucking some married asshole who never had any intention of leaving his wife."

His mother sharply inhaled, but she didn't say anything, not even attempting to defend herself.

"How long did he even stick around after you got rid of me?" he asked. "A month? Maybe two?"

"Yur ochka , this is hardly the time or place to discuss this," she whispered, clearly agitated.

Yuri  no longer care d . He'd been keeping his feelings bottled up for fourteen long years, keeping a tentative peace for his grandpa's sake, but with him gone, there was nothing stopping him from  finally confronting her. "Don't call me that – not like you actually give a damn about me. I heard everything that night,  _Mother_ ." He said the last word in a mocking tone, as there was no one less deserving of the title in his eyes.

"What on Earth are you talking about? What night?"

"Maybe this will refresh your memory." Leaning so that his mouth was right next to her ear, he recited the words that had broken his young heart so many years ago. "'Why not? I never wanted him anyway. I should have abor–'"

She didn't let him finish,  shoving him away. "I-I was just saying what Vanya wanted me to say," she said. "I didn't really mean it. Don't take it so seriously."

"You expect me to believe that? Really?" Yuri hated that his voice cracked, taking a moment to compose himself before continuing. "No. No, it was the truth, wasn't it? You meant every single word of it. Otherwise, you would have tried to get me back when he finally dumped your sorry ass."

"Why, you little bas—"

She raised her hand, but on instinct, Yuri grabbed her wrist before she could make contact with his cheek. The two of them stared at each other in a silent battle of wills until Otabek and Mila walked over, a hush falling over the rest of the room.

"Is there a problem, Yura?" Otabek asked, touching his elbow.

Yuri took in a deep breath before relaxing his grip on his mother's arm; it was only then that he realized he had been trembling. "No, no problem," he said, his voice hoarse as beside him, Mila placed a comforting hand on his back. "Mother and her…date were just leaving."

"You're kicking me out of my own father's funeral reception?" she asked in disbelief, yanking her hand away. When nobody stood up for her, she smoothed down the fabric of her dress, and her eyes narrowed. "Fine. I know when I'm not welcome." She looked around the room. "Where is Anton?"

"I believe he went downstairs for a smoke," Otabek said.

"Thank you," she said curtly before turning to leave.

"Wait."

Mila's hand left Yuri's back as she stepped forward. "You forgot something," she said, his mother pivoting back around.

"What?"

"This."

With lightning fast speed, Mila's hand smacked  his mother across her cheek. She didn't even have time to defend herself as Yuri had, the sharp slapping noise reverberating throughout the quiet of the room as she stumbled backwards, crashing into another one of Grandpa's old buddies.

"You BITCH!"

The old man – Yuri remembered he was a retired police officer – kept a firm grip on her arms, his mother struggling to break free as Otabek quickly positioned himself in front of Mila and Yuri, his arm stretched out to the side.

"No, you're the bitch," Mila yelled, Yuri surprised by the pure venom in her voice. He had seen her get angry before, but never to such an extent. There was something visceral, almost primal, in her reaction, and Yuri found himself holding her back as well, her entire body vibrating with fury.

"Mila, stop," he begged. Not because of his mother – frankly, she had gotten what she deserved, as far as he was concerned – but he didn't want anything to happen to Mila or the baby. "It's okay."

"No, it's not!" By that time, Mila was crying, twisting around to look at him. "She's your mother. She's supposed to love you the most, but she –"

Yuri glanced away. He had never wanted them to find out, especially not like this.

"Let me go, Vladimir Petrovich," his mother said, still trying in vain to get out of Vladimir's grasp. He may have been old, but he had kept in shape even after his retirement. "Aren't you a cop? Arrest her! That slut assaulted me. Can't you see _I'm_ the victim here?"

"I think it's time for you to leave, Sasha," Vladimir said in a soft, yet commanding, voice. "Kolya would be so heart-broken to see you like this."

Grandpa's name did the trick. She stopped putting up a fight, her shoulders slumping as Vladimir slackened his grip on her arms. The haunted look from earlier returned to her face, but that time, Yuri felt no sympathy toward her at all. A still-crying Mila wrapped her arms around his waist, and Otabek let his arm fall back to his side, judging the threat over.

Wordlessly, Vladimir began leading Yuri's mother toward the door.

They hadn't gone far when Otabek stepped forward. "Ms. Plisetskaya?"

She came to a stop, although she didn't turn around. "What is it this time?" she asked. "Are you going to slap me, too? Haven't I suffered enough of this humiliation?"

Yuri had no idea what Otabek intended to do either. He had yet to see Otabek's face since Mila's attack on his mother, but Yuri sensed a tenseness in his back  that was d ifficult to read. "Beka…?"

Otabek ignored both Yuri and his mother's questions. "For the record, in answer to your earlier inquiry, the baby is ours. _All_ of ours," he said in a low voice that was outwardly calm, but tinged with an underlying cold anger that sent a shiver up Yuri’s spine. "You, however, will not be involved in any part of her life. I – no, _w_ _e_ – will not allow you the opportunity to hurt our daughter like you've hurt your son. Don’t you _ever_ contact Yura again. If you do, I will make certain you live to regret it. Is that clear?"

At that, Yuri's mother finally turned back around. She looked past Otabek, however, staring over his shoulder at Yuri. Though he was tempted to look away, Yuri forced himself to meet her gaze one final time, letting her know that he agreed with everything Otabek said. If he ever saw her again, it would be too soon.

"Crystal," she said before shrugging Vladimir's hand off her arm and pivoting back around to leave.

The moment the door slammed shut behind her, Yuri released the breath he didn't realize he had been holding. Mila tightened her hold on him as Otabek walked back over to them.

"Are you two okay?" he asked softly. "Milasha, your hand…"

"It's fine, it's fine. Don't worry about me. But Yura…"

Yuri pulled Mila's arms away, breaking free of her suddenly suffocating embrace. "I-I have to go," he said, already heading in the direction of the door.

"Yura, wait." Otabek's hand wrapped around his wrist. "Where? You still have guests."

He didn't give a fuck. Now that everybody knew his secret, the last thing he wanted was to stick around and listen to people whisper about him behind his back. Playing host wasn't his thing, anyway. "You take care of them," he said, yanking his arm out of Otabek's grasp.

After grabbing the key to his grandfather's car from its usual hook, Yuri left the apartment, the door slamming close for the second time in a row. He hurried down the stairwell and made his way to the parking lot out back.

He exited the building just in time to see a white Lada Riva badly in need of a good washing swerving past him, giving him a glimpse of his mother sitting in the passenger seat. The asshole she had brought as her date blasted the horn, Yuri flipping them off with both hands while screaming what he should have said earlier.

"STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME, BITCH! I NEVER WANNA SEE YOU AGAIN!"

It didn't make him feel any better.

He looked around the parking lot, searching for Grandpa's car. It wasn't hard to find, the old jalopy sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the fleet of sleeker, more modern cars surrounding it. Yuri jogged over to where it was parked, unlocking the door on the driver's side and sliding behind the wheel.

Other than Yuri, the teal Moskvitch 444 had been his grandfather's pride and joy, the first – and only – car he'd ever bought. Though Yuri offered several times to buy him a brand new one once real money started coming in from his skating and endorsements, Grandpa had always declined, insisting that "Katya" suited him just fine, that he wasn't about to dump her for some flashy new model when she had stood faithfully by him for so many years.

Yuri slid the key into the ignition and turned it, only for the engine to sputter for a couple of seconds before dying.

"Oh, for the love –" He tried it a second time, muttering, "Come on, come on, come on…" under his breath as the engine briefly came back to life.  It died a second time a few seconds later,  however,  Yuri violently swearing as he  slapped his hand  against the car horn. "You have got to be fuckin g  kidding me!"

This was not what he needed at the moment.

He smacked the steering wheel a couple of more times, letting out a few choice expletives before getting back out of the car and yanking the hood up to look inside.

Not that it did any good. Yuri had no idea what he was supposed to look for, his mechanical skills limited to pumping gas and _maybe_ changing a tire in a pinch. Mila, the daughter of a mechanic, had tried to teach him some basic skills when he had been given his Mercedes as a reward for his Olympic gold medal, but he hadn't paid much attention to her lessons, figuring he could just pay someone to take care of crap like that. Nothing was smoking, at least. That was a good sign, right?

He slammed the hood down and swore again, banging his fist against the top. “Fucking piece of shit!” What was he supposed to do now? N o way in hell was  he going to r eturn to t he apartment until every last guest had left. He could go for a walk, but his feet already ached from standing so much during the Requiem Mass and burial,  having forgotten that he hadn’t yet broken in his new dress shoes.

“ Yura!”

Hearing Otabek’s voice, he turned around.  “ You’re supposed to be looking after the guests.”

“ Everyone decided it was best to go home.” 

Indeed, looking around the parking lot, Yuri noticed several familiar faces walking back to their cars, a couple shooting him pitying glances as they passed by. He was tempted to flip them off, but instead, he sighed, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against Grandpa’s car.

“We asked them t o respect your privacy ,” Otabek continued. “I don’t know if that will be enough to stop anyone from going to the tabloids, but...”  He placed his hands on Yuri’s upper arms. “Are you okay?”

Yuri wished he would stop asking that. Of course he wasn’t okay! Nothing about what had happened o ver the past few days was okay.

“The fucking car won’t start.”

“ Did you check the gas guage?”

“Of course I –  Uh, n o,” he was forced to admit, realizing he hadn’t.

Otabek opened the door and climbed into the driver’s seat to check. “Yeah, it’s on empty,” he said, manually rolling down the window. “Might be a leak  somewhere . You should have Mila take a look later.  I know motorcycles. Cars are more her e xpertise .”

“ Yeah, okay.” Yuri h ad no idea  what he was going to do with Grandpa’s car, but even if he decided to sell, h e supposed it was kind of  important for the car to actually  _work_ .

Otabek jerked his head to the e mpty seat beside him. “Get in.”

Yuri rolled his eyes. “I told you, the car won’t start. You said yourself it’s on empty.”

“Doesn’t matter. Just get in.”

“ Fine, whatever.” It beat standing outside in the summer heat, ignoring the stares of departing mourners and getting more blisters on his toes. Yuri hopped in on the passenger side and leaned back in the seat. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said before Otabek even had a chance to broach the subject. Yuri knew he probably had a lot of questions, but he wasn’t ready to talk about  his mother.

Not yet.

“That’s fine. Take as much time as you need,” Otabek said, reaching over and placing his hand over Yuri’s. His thumb rubbed soothing circles over Yuri’s skin. “I’m here for you, though, okay? Me and Mila both. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Yeah, I know,” Yuri said in a softer voice, head falling  against the window pane. “Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: “Yuri!!! On Ice” doesn’t belong to me.
> 
> AUTHOR’S NOTES: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! The next chapter should hopefully be posted in early April.
> 
> Feel free to follow me on Tumblr! My username is kaleidodreams.

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: “Yuri!! On Ice” doesn’t belong to me.
> 
> AUTHOR’S NOTES: I hope you enjoyed! My current plan is to update this fic bimonthly, so Chapter 2 should be up some time in August.
> 
> If you’re wondering about about Nikita’s name being so similar to Nikiforov, Viktor and Yuuri decided to give him Yuuri’s family name since they used Viktor’s name for the patronymic. (Viktor and Yuuri kept their own names when they got married.) His full name is Nikita Viktorovich Katsuki. Nikita is a nod to Viktor’s surname, as well as one of the few Russian boys’ names that also worked well in Japanese.
> 
> Feel free to follow me on Tumblr! My username is kaleidodreams.


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